"Digging," replied the boy, resuming his work.

"Digging what?"

The boy lifted out a double handful of dirt upon the big spade.

"A grave."

The man glanced about again.

"For some pet?"

The boy shook his head.

"No--sir," the latter word coming as an after-thought. His mother had
taught him that title of respect.

Rankin changed the line of interrogation.

"Where's Tom Blair, young man?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Your mother, then, where is she?"

"My mother is dead."

"Dead?"

The child's blue eyes did not falter.