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Updated: May 7, 2025
"I think," said the boy, goaded to reply, "that it would be better if young fellows of this country didn't think so much about racin' an' fightin'." The questioner stared blankly for a moment, then laughed suddenly in the boy's face, and turned away. The rest grinned. "Arvie's getting balmier than ever," guffawed young Bill.
He couldn't fight; but then, of course, he wasn't strong. They don't bother me while I'm strong enough to heave a rock; but then, of course, it wasn't Arvie's fault. I s'pose he had pluck enough, if he hadn't the strength." And Bill regarded the corpse with a fatherly and lenient eye.
One of the fellows that carried father home said: 'Yer husband's dead, mum, he says; 'he dropped off all of a suddint, and mother said, 'My God! my God! just like that, and went off." "Poor soul! poor soul! And now my Arvie's gone. Whatever will me and the children do? Whatever will I do? Whatever will I do? My God! I wish I was under the turf." "Cheer up, mum!" said Bill.
My father looked right enough at first just as if he was restin' but after they'd had him opened he looked as if he'd been hurt. No one else could see it, but I could. How old was Arvie?" "Eleven." "I'm twelve goin' on for thirteen. Arvie's father's dead, ain't he?" "Yes." "So's mine. Died at his work, didn't he?" "Yes." "So'd mine. Arvie told me his father died of something with his heart!"
He looked at the coffin with the critical eye of a tradesman, then he looked at Arvie, and then at the coffin again, as if calculating whether the body would fit. The mother uncovered the white, pinched face of the dead boy, and Bill came and stood by the sofa. He carelessly drew his right hand from his pocket, and laid the palm on Arvie's ice-cold forehead. "Poor little cove!"
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