He did not at first see Ginger’s brother Hector who had come round to the side of the house looking pale and distraught.
‘This is terrible news,’ began Hector.
William was touched. Somehow he hadn’t expected this kindness, this understanding, from Hector.
‘Yes, isn’t it,’ he acquiesced despondently, ‘terrible.’
‘She seemed all right yesterday,’ continued Hector.
‘She was,’ affirmed William, ‘she was quite all right yesterday. I think it was eatin’ those berries.’
‘What berries?’ said the young man.
‘Those berries Ginger gave her.’
‘D – did Ginger give her some berries?’ stammered Hector aghast.
‘Yes – all sorts of different coloured kinds of berries what he found about the garden. And she ate them all.’
The horror of the young man is indescribable. That his young brother – his young brother should be the cause of it. . . .
‘B-but,’ he stammered, ‘I – I heard in the village it was measles.’
‘No,’ said William, ‘it’s worse than measles. She’s dead. She died in the night.’
‘What?’ screamed the young man.
‘She’s dead,’ said William, somewhat flattered if a little surprised by the deep emotion shown by the visitor. ‘When Ginger ’n’ me came to clean out her cage this mornin’ we found her dead.'
‘Clean out her c—! What the dickens are you talking about?’
‘Our mouse,’ said William simply; ‘weren’t you?’
The visitor obviously controlled himself with an effort.
‘No,’ he said with venomous coldness, ‘I was talking about your sister Ethel.’
‘Oh, Ethel,’ said William carelessly. ‘Oh no, it’s not measles. It’s somethin’ else. I’ve forgotten its name.’
Again anxiety clouded the young man’s brow.