Chapter I

           Cedrichimselfknewnothingwhateveraboutit.Ithadneverbeenevenmentionedtohim.HeknewthathispapahadbeenanEnglishman,becausehismammahadtoldhimso;butthenhispapahaddiedwhenhewassolittleaboythathecouldnotrememberverymuchabouthim,exceptthathewasbig,andhadblueeyesandalongmustache,andthatitwasasplendidthingtobecarriedaroundtheroomonhisshoulder.Sincehispapa’sdeath,Cedrichadfoundoutthatitwasbestnottotalktohismammaabouthim.Whenhisfatherwasill,Cedrichadbeensentaway,andwhenhehadreturned,everythingwasover;andhismother,whohadbeenveryill,too,wasonlyjustbeginningtositinherchairbythewindow.Shewaspaleandthin,andallthedimpleshadgonefromherprettyface,andhereyeslookedlargeandmournful,andshewasdressedinblack.

           “Dearest,”saidCedric(hispapahadcalledherthatalways,andsothelittleboyhadlearnedtosayit),—“dearest,ismypapabetter?”

           Hefeltherarmstremble,andsoheturnedhiscurlyheadandlookedinherface.Therewassomethinginitthatmadehimfeelthathewasgoingtocry.

           “Dearest,”hesaid,“ishewell?”

           Thensuddenlyhislovinglittlehearttoldhimthathe’dbetterputbothhisarmsaroundherneckandkissheragainandagain,andkeephissoftcheekclosetohers;andhedidso,andshelaidherfaceonhisshoulderandcriedbitterly,holdinghimasifshecouldneverlethimgoagain.

           “Yes,heiswell,”shesobbed;“heisquite,quitewell,butwe—wehavenooneleftbuteachother.Nooneatall.