"Mrs. Dart evidently knows her own mind," thought the Doctor. He drove a little way out of town and waited for Frank and Sherm. Chicken Little was with them. He gave the boy this second message, explaining what he had done. Sherm read it over and over, as if he hoped in some way to find a reason for his mother's decision lurking between the lines.

At length he said stolidly: "I'll wait till to-morrow. Perhaps the letter will come to-night."

They talked it over and Sherm and Chicken Little went on to town with the light buggy to wait for the mail, while Dr. Morton and Frank drove home.

There was a handful of letters in the box. Sherm took them out hastily.

"I guess this is it," he said, stuffing one into his pocket. "And here's three for you."

"Three? Whoever from?" Jane held out her hand. "Ernest and Katy--and here's another with an Annapolis postmark. Who do you suppose?"

Sherm glanced over her shoulder. "That's Carol Brown's handwriting."

"Carol?--writing to me? How funny!"

They hurried out to the team.

"Let me drive while you read your letter, Sherm."

Sherm shook his head. "Read yours first--this will keep."

"The idea--I wouldn't be so piggy selfish."

"Please, Jane, I'd rather get out of town before I tackle it."

"Sherm, I wish I could----" She didn't need to finish. Sherm understood.

"Read Carol's first," he said.

She read it with a beaming face. Sherm was looking at her without seeing her. She started to tell him the contents of the letter, then suddenly stopped. She couldn't rejoice over being asked to a hop when Sherm was in such trouble. Laying the letter in her lap, she took up Ernest's.

Sherm noticed the movement and, remembering, asked her what Carol had to say.

She handed him the letter. He read it through absently. The houses were thinning along the road. The prairie stretched ahead of them in solitary sweeps of tender green, dappled with flowers. Jane reached for the reins.

"Read your letter, Sherm."

He obeyed in silence. Chicken Little kept her eyes on the road ahead. A sharp exclamation from Sherm startled her:

"G.o.d, it can't be true!"

Sherm swearing? She looked at him in amazement. The boy was not swearing; he had cried out in utter agony. He dropped the letter on the floor of the buggy and buried his face in his hands.

"Sherm, Sherm, what is it?" Chicken Little was frightened.

He did not answer. He did not seem to have noticed that she had spoken.

She reached over and touched him. "Sherm! Sherm!" He shook off her hand impatiently.

Chicken Little hesitated a moment, then flicked the horses into a swift trot. She must get him home. Perhaps he was going to be ill. The boy did not move or look up for miles. When the horses splashed through the ford at Elm Creek, he roused himself and looked dully at Jane.

"Sherm, please tell me. It will make it easier for you to tell somebody, and I'm worried to death."

He stooped and picked up the letter. Smoothing it out, he thrust it into her hand. "Read it." He took the reins.

Chicken Little ran over the letter hurriedly. It bore a date some days previous.

"My Dear Boy:

"Dr. Jones has just told me it can be only a question of days now. I have been studying whether to send for you or not. Father settled the question for me. He said he wanted sorrowfully to see you, but in view of the things that must be told you, it would be too painful an ordeal for all of us. He said to tell you you were very precious to him--as precious as if you had really been his own son."

Chicken Little gave a little cry. "Sherm, what does she mean?"

"Read it all."

"For, Sherm, you are not our own. If Father could have lived, we never intended you to know this--at least not until you were a man and had made a place for yourself. But Father's illness is leaving us penniless.

Sue's husband has offered Grace and myself a home with them, but he thinks you must be told the truth--that it is only fair to you. We took you when you were about two and a half years old under very peculiar circ.u.mstances. It was while we were still living in New York, and Sue was a tot of five. We were going up to my father's in Albany and were a little late. Father told the hackman to drive fast; he'd give him an extra dollar if he'd catch the train. The man had been drinking and drove recklessly. He was just dashing round the corner to the station--the train was already whistling--when he knocked down, and ran over, a woman with a child in her arms. The child was pitched to one side and escaped with a few bruises. The woman never regained consciousness. You have probably guessed that you were that child. We could never find out who she was, though we advertised for several weeks. We decided to bring you up with Sue, and when we moved to Centerville, soon after, no one knew you were not our own child. We had you baptized Sherman after the great general who had just won his way to notice then. I have saved the clothing you wore, and a brooch and wedding ring of your mother's. I will send them to you, together with a hundred dollars, which is all I can give you to start you on your way."

The remainder of the letter was filled with her grief over parting with her husband, and her separation from Sherm himself.

Chicken Little swallowed hard--something seemed to be gripping her by the throat.

"And your father isn't your father, Sherm?--or your mother or Sue or Grace?" The tragic extent of what had happened was dawning slowly upon Jane.

Sherm's lips trembled.

"No, I--haven't any father--I've never had a father!... I haven't got anybody.... I haven't even got a name that belongs to me!" Sherm's voice grew shriller and shriller till it broke with a dry sob.

Chicken Little slipped her hand into his and the boy clung to it spasmodically, as if that slim, brown hand were all he had in the world to cling to. The tears were raining down Jane's cheeks, but Sherm's eyes were dry and burning. The team trotted along evenly. They turned mechanically into the stable yard when they reached the ranch. It was growing dusk.

Sherm helped her out, saying: "Will you please tell them, Chicken Little? I won't come in just yet."

She ran to the house and poured out her tale. Her father hurried to the stable. Sherm was not there. Jim Bart, who was milking in the corral near by, said he had saddled Caliph and gone off down the lane. Dr.

Morton talked it over with Frank and they decided that Sherm had done the wisest thing possible in going for a gallop.

"He doesn't mean to do anything rash or he wouldn't have taken Ernest's horse," Frank declared.

But as hour after hour went by, the family grew more and more anxious.

At eleven o'clock, Frank saddled Calico and tried to find him. He returned some time later in despair.

"You might as well try to look for a needle in a haystack. Poor lad, I have faith he will ride the worst of it off and Caliph is a pretty steady little beast now. He'll bring him home."

A few moments after his return, a messenger came from Captain Clarke, saying that he had been wakened by Caliph neighing at the gate and had gone out to find Sherm dazed and apparently completely exhausted. He had got him to bed where he was sleeping heavily. Captain Clarke was afraid they must be worried. He would care for him till morning, but he would be glad to have some inkling of what had happened so that he might know what to say to the boy when he waked.

Dr. Morton got out his medicine case and went back with the man.