The Sunday Murder
from the cold neck, and sitting down took it in his own. Talking low to the little fellow, he got his attention after much patient effort and got him to speak. He made him, though struggling with terror, to understand that he had come to be his friend, and after the child had sobbed his grief into a strange heart he ceased to tremble, and told his name and his story, and described the two horsemen and the horses they had left. Smith listened quietly. “Have you had any supper, Dannie? No? You must have something to eat. Can’t you eat anything? But there is a nice pan of fresh milk in the kitchen.”
A burst of tears interrupted him. “Daddie just brought in the milk, and I was frying the ham, and I heard them shooting.”
“See how he took care of you till the last minute, and left something for you after he was gone. Suppose he could speak now, don’t you think he would want you to do as I say? I am your next friend now, for you are going to be a railroad man and have a big engine.”
Dannie looked up. “Dad wasn’t afraid of those men.”
“Wasn’t he, Dannie?”
“He said we would be all right and not to be afraid.”
“Did he?”
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