shocked and grieved would merely be to repeat a very stupid platitude,
and to say that I was a human being. I had learned to love poor
little Charlie almost as dearly as I loved my own children. And his
father--what would be the consequence to him?

I drove direct to his house, which was filled with people--neighbours
and others who had called to administer such consolation as the
circumstances would admit of. I am not ashamed to confess that the
moment my eyes rested upon the bereaved father I burst into tears. He
sat with his child's body in his lap, and seemed literally transformed
into stone. A breeze came in through the open doorway and stirred his
thin iron-gray locks, as he sat there in his arm chair. He was
unconscious of everything--even of the presence of strangers. His eyes
were fixed and glazed. Not a sound of any kind, not even a moan, passed
his lips; and it was only after feeling his pulse that I was able to
pronounce with certainty that he was alive. One single gleam of
animation overspread his features for an instant when I gently removed
the crushed corpse from his knees, and laid it on the bed, but he
quickly relapsed into stolidity. I was informed that he had sat thus
ever since he had first received the corpse from the arms of Joe
Pentland, who had brought it home without changing his clown's dress.
Heaven grant that I may never look upon such a sight again as the poor,
half-recovered invalid presented during the whole of that night and for
several days afterwards.

For the next three days I spent all the time with him I possibly could,
for I dreaded either a relapse of the fever or the loss of his reason.
The Neighbours were very kind, and took upon themselves the burden of
everything connected with the funeral. As for Fink himself, he seemed
to take everything for granted, and interfered with nothing. When the