they led him away, and tried to speak to him. He did not heed them. A
weight such as he had never known before pressed upon his heart. He wished
to be alone, somewhere in the woods, out there where no one could gaze
upon him. His father was dead! For him there was no consolation from the
words of the Man of Sorrows. The life beyond had no meaning for him. His
mother had taught him to say the little prayer, "Now I lay me down to
sleep," but that seemed so long ago, and he had not repeated it after her
death. He had seen the birds and animals lying dead, but had thought
nothing about it then. Now his father was just like them, would never look
at him again, would never speak to him any more.

He watched in a dazed manner what took place on the two following days.
Neighbours came, spoke to him, stayed awhile and then departed. The day of
the funeral arrived. He stood with the rest at the graveside. It was cold,
and the wind laden with snow whistled about him. He heard the grey-headed,
white-bearded clergyman read the Burial Service. The words of hope had no
meaning for him. An awful feeling of desolation filled his heart as he
watched the earth thrown into the grave. A shiver passed through his body,
caused not by the coldness alone. Several came to speak to him. He did not
want to see them. He turned and fled down across the field over the fence
to the humble cabin in the valley. This he entered, now so quiet and
desolate. He reached the bed--his father's bed--and throwing himself upon
it gave vent to his grief. His pent-up feelings at last found an outlet
and tears coursed down his tanned cheeks, moistening the pillow beneath
his little curly head.




Chapter III