"You
won't forget, boy, will you?" she said.
"Oh, no," said the boy; "but I wish you had liked my songs."
Presently, when he had come a little way out of the town, he put his
hand in his wallet and drew out the magistrate's certificate and tore
it in two; and then he took out the gold pieces and threw them into
the ditch, and they were not half as bright as the buttercups. But
when he came to the ringlet he smiled at it and put it back.
"Yet she was as bad as the rest of them," he thought with a sigh.
And he went across the world with his songs.
And Who Shall Say----?
It was a dull November day, and the windows were heavily
curtained, so that the room was very dark. In front of the fire was a
large arm-chair, which shut whatever light there might be from the
two children, a boy of eleven and a girl about two years younger, who
sat on the floor at the back of the room. The boy was the better
looking, but the girl had the better face. They were both gazing at
the arm-chair with the utmost excitement.
"It's all right. He's asleep," said the boy.
"Oh, do be careful! you'll wake him," whispered the girl.
"Are you afraid?"
"No, why should I be afraid of my father, stupid?"
"I tell you he's not father any more. He's a murderer," the boy said
hotly. "He told me, I tell you. He said, `I have killed your
mother, Ray,' and I went and looked, and mother was all red. I simply
shouted, and she wouldn't answer.
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