“Poor Toffee, my dear. It happened right at the cross-roads. Henry was takin’ him out. It seems he ran round in front of a steam-roller, and a motor came round the corner sudden. Henry called out, but too late. Went right over his back. Poor Henry was quite upset. He brought him home. What’s the matter, dear?” Ned had pushed his chair back and he stood up. He stared at his mother like a man who has seen horror for the first time. “Where is he——where was——” he stammered. “We buried ’im, dear, under the little mound beyond the rabbit hutches.” Ned staggered across the room like a drunken man, and repeated dismally: “The little mound beyond the rabbit hutches!” He lifted the latch, and groped his way into the garden. His mother followed him. He went along the mud path, past the untenanted hutches covered with tarpaulin. Some tall sunflowers stared at him insolently. A fine rain was beginning to fall. In the dim light he could just see the little mound—signifying the spot where Toffee was buried. He stood there bare-headed, gazing at the spot. His mother did not like to speak. She tiptoed back to the door. But after a time she called out: “Ned!... Ned!” He did not seem to hear, and she waited patiently. At the end of several minutes she called again: “Ned!... Ned dear, come and finish your tea.” He replied quite quietly: “All right, mother.” But he kept his face averted, for he did not want his mother to see the tears which were streaming down his cheeks. PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA