before conceived of anything but an accident happening to his father;
now all at once he saw plainly that if his father, Abel Edwards, had
come to his death in the pond it must have been through his own
choice. "He couldn't have fell in," muttered Jerome, with stiff lips,
looking at the gently curving shore and looking at the hat.

Suddenly he straightened himself, and an expression of desperate
resolution came into his face. He set his teeth hard; somehow,
whether through inherited instincts or through impressions he had got
from his mother, he had a firm conviction that suicide was a horrible
disgrace to the dead man himself and to his family.

"Nobody shall ever know it," the boy thought. He nodded fiercely, as
if to confirm it, and began picking up stones from the shore of the
pond. He filled the crown of the hat with them, got a string out of
his pocket, tied it firmly around the crown, making a strong knot;
then he swung his arm back at the shoulder, brought it forward with a
wide sweep, and flung the hat past the middle of the Dead Hole.

"There," said Jerome; "guess nobody 'll ever know now. There ain't no
bottom to the Dead Hole." The boy hurried out of the woods and down
the road again. When he reached the Prescott house a man was just
coming out of the yard, following the path from the south door. When
he came up to Jerome he eyed him curiously; then he grasped him by
the shoulder.

"Sick?" said he.

"No," said Jerome.