"How has he been all day?" Ralph inquired of his mother.
"Just as you see him now," answered the widow. "He has been busy all day, willing, happy as a lark. The doctor dropped in this afternoon."
"What did he say?" asked Ralph.
"He says there is nothing the matter with the boy excepting the shock. He fears no violent outbreak, or anything, of that kind, and only hopes that gradually the cloud will leave his mind."
"If kindness can help any, he will get sound and well," declared Ralph chivalrously. "He doesn't talk much?"
"Hardly a word, but he watches, and seems to understand everything."
"What is that?" asked Ralph, pausing as they passed together through the side door.
The wood shed door was scrawled over with chalk marks Ralph had not seen there before.
"Oh," explained Mrs. Fairbanks, "he found a piece of chalk, and seemed to take pleasure in writing every once in a while."
"And just one word?"
"Yes, Ralph—those three letters."
"V-A-N," spelled out Ralph. "Mother, that must be his name—Van."
