awkward sympathy.

"Oh, hullo, sonny! So you're the boy, are ye?" he began
diffidently.

"Yes, yes, I'm David. But where is he-- my father, you know? I
mean the--the part he--he left behind him?" choked the boy. "The
part like--the ice-coat?"

The man stared. Then, involuntarily, he began to back away.

"Well, ye see, I--I--"

"But, maybe you don't know," interrupted David feverishly. "You
aren't the man I saw last night. Who are you? Where is he--the
other one, please?"

"No, I--I wa'n't here--that is, not at the first," spoke up the
man quickly, still unconsciously backing away. "Me--I'm only
Larson, Perry Larson, ye know. 'T was Mr. Holly you see last
night--him that I works for."

"Then, where is Mr. Holly, please?" faltered the boy, hurrying
toward the barn door. "Maybe he would know--about father. Oh,
there he is!" And David ran out of the barn and across the yard
to the kitchen porch.

It was an unhappy ten minutes that David spent then. Besides Mr.
Holly, there were Mrs. Holly, and the man, Perry Larson. And they
all talked. But little of what they said could David understand.