probably hadn't been a wide open window since the storm sashes were
installed last autumn--provided a locked-in feeling that conversely meant
that the world was locked out.

Grandfather brought in the glass of warmed milk and a plate of cookies.
He sat down and asked, "What happened, Jimmy?"

"My mother and father are--"

"You eat your cookies and drink your milk," ordered his grandmother. "We
know. That Mr. Brennan sent us a telegram."

* * * * *

It was slightly more than twenty-four hours since Jimmy Holden had blown
out the five proud candles on his birthday cake and begun to open his
fine presents. Now it all came back with a rush, and when it came back,
nothing could stop it.

Jimmy never knew how very like a little boy of five he sounded that
night. His speech was clear enough, but his troubled mind was too full
to take the time to form his headlong thoughts into proper sentences.
He could not pause to collect his thoughts into any chronology, so it
came out going back and forth all in a single line, punctuated only by
necessary pauses for the intake of breath. He was close to tears before
he was halfway through, and by the time he came to the end he stopped in
a sob and broke out crying.

His grandfather said, "Jimmy, aren't you exaggerating? Mr. Brennan isn't
that sort of a man."