At first Mrs. Gray simply moaned, "My lad--my lad--my lad----"
upbraiding herself for ever letting him go away from home; but finally
tears--the blessed safety-valve of grief--came and washed away the
first effects of the shock.
Then she became quite calm, and insisted upon hearing every smallest
detail of Ed's story, and he related what had happened step by step,
beginning with the arrival of himself and Dick at the river tilt on
Christmas eve and the discovery that Bob's furs had been removed, and
passed on to the finding of the remains by the big boulder in the
marsh, Mrs. Gray interrupting now and again to ask a fuller
explanation here and there.
When Ed told of gathering up the fragments of torn clothing, she asked
to see them at once. Ed hesitated, and Douglas suggested that she wait
until a later time when her nerves were steadier; but she was
determined, and insisted upon seeing them without delay, and there was
nothing to do but produce them. Contrary to their expectations, she
made no scene when they were placed before her, and though her hand
trembled a little was quite collected as she took up the blood-stained
pieces of cloth and examined them critically one by one. Finally she
raised her head and announced:
"None o' _them_ were ever a part o' Bob's clothes.
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