"
He mumbled something.
"You have had nothing to eat. I have put some supper in your room. You
must come home with me, Waldo."
She took his hand, and the boy rose slowly.
She made him take her arm, and twisted her small fingers among his.
"You must forget," she whispered. "Since it happened I walk, I talk, I
never sit still. If we remember, we cannot bring back the dead." She knit
her little fingers closer among his. "Forgetting is the best thing. He
did watch it coming," she whispered presently. "That is the dreadful
thing, to see it coming!" She shuddered. "I want it to come so to me too.
Why do you think I was driving that bird?" she added quickly. "That was
Hans, the bird that hates Bonaparte. I let him out this afternoon; I
thought he would chase him and perhaps kill him."
The boy showed no sign of interest.
"He did not catch him; but he put his head over the half-door of your cabin
and frightened him horribly. He was there, busy stealing your things.
Perhaps he will leave them alone now; but I wish the bird had trodden on
him."
They said no more till they reached the door of the cabin.
"There is a candle and supper on the table. You must eat," she said
authoritatively. "I cannot stay with you now, lest they find out about the
bird."
He grasped her arm and brought his mouth close to her ear.
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