“He went⁠—he went out to play,” Marija sobbed, her voice choking her. “We couldn’t make him stay in. He must have got caught in the mud!”

“Are you sure that he is dead?” he demanded.

“Ai! ai!” she wailed. “Yes; we had the doctor.”

Then Jurgis stood a few seconds, wavering. He did not shed a tear. He took one glance more at the blanket with the little form beneath it, and then turned suddenly to the ladder and climbed down again. A silence fell once more in the room as he entered. He went straight to the door, passed out, and started down the street.

When his wife had died, Jurgis made for the nearest saloon, but he did not do that now, though he had his week’s wages in his pocket. He walked and walked, seeing nothing, splashing through mud and water. Later on he sat down upon a step and hid his face in his hands and for half an hour or so he did not move. Now and then he would whisper to himself: “Dead! Dead! ”