To none of his questions could he obtain an answer that
satisfied.

Neither, on his part, could he seem to reply to their questions
in a way that pleased them.

They went in to breakfast then, Mr. and Mrs. Holly, and the man,
Perry Larson. They asked David to go--at least, Mrs. Holly asked
him. But David shook his head and said "No, no, thank you very
much; I'd rather not, if you please--not now." Then he dropped
himself down on the steps to think. As if he could EAT--with that
great choking lump in his throat that refused to be swallowed!

David was thoroughly dazed, frightened, and dismayed. He knew now
that never again in this world would he see his dear father, or
hear him speak. This much had been made very clear to him during
the last ten minutes. Why this should be so, or what his father
would want him to do, he could not seem to find out. Not until
now had he realized at all what this going away of his father was
to mean to him. And he told himself frantically that he could not
have it so. HE COULD NOT HAVE IT SO! But even as he said the
words, he knew that it was so--irrevocably so.

David began then to long for his mountain home. There at least
he would have his dear forest all about him, with the birds and
the squirrels and the friendly little brooks. There he would have
his Silver Lake to look at, too, and all of them would speak to
him of his father. He believed, indeed, that up there it would
almost seem as if his father were really with him. And, anyway,
if his father ever should come back, it would be there that he