"With my father," said Francis, and they saw that he shook from head to foot.
"He was with Jack; he did what he could. He couldn't do more," said Francis.
"Poor lad," said Stephen Hopkins, laying his hand gently on the boy's shoulder.
"Do you want to tell us? Was it an accident?"
Francis nodded. "Bouncing Bully," he muttered.
Stephen Hopkins glanced questioningly at Constance; he thought perhaps Francis was wandering in his mind.
"That was poor Jack's great pistol that he took such pride in," cried Constance.
"Burst," cried Francis, and said no more.
"Come home with us, Francis," said Mr. Hopkins. "Indeed, my boy, I am heartily sorry for thee, and wish I could comfort thee. Be brave, and bear it in the way that thou hast been taught."
"I liked Jack," said poor Francis, turning away. "I thank you, Mr. Hopkins, but I'd not care to go home with you. If Giles was back----. Not that I don't love you, Con, but Jack and Giles----. I'm going--somewhere. I guess I'll find Nimrod, my dog. Thank you, Mr. Hopkins, but I couldn't come. I forgot why I came here. Doctor Fuller told me to say he wanted you. It's about Jack--Jack's----. They'll bury him."
The boy turned away, staggering, but in a moment Constance and her father, watching him, saw him break into a run and disappear.
"Don't look so worried, my dear," said Stephen Hopkins. "It is a boy's instinct to hide his grief, and the dog will be a good comrade for Francis for awhile. Later we will get hold of him. Best leave him to himself awhile. That wild, unruly Jack! And he is dead! I'd rather a hundred pounds were lost than that I had spoken as I did to Francis at first, but how should I have dreamed it was more than another of the Billington scrapes? I tell thee, Connie, it will be a rare mercy if the father does not end badly one day. He is insubordinate, lawless, dangerous. Perhaps young John is saved a worse fate."
"Nevertheless I am sad enough over the fate that has befallen him," said Constance. "He was a kindly boy, and loyal enough to me to make it right that I should mourn him. And I did like him. Poor Jack. Poor, young, heedless Jack! And how proud he was of that clumsy weapon that hath turned on him!"
"And so did I like him, Connie, though he and Francis have been, from our first embarkation on the _Mayflower_, the torment and black sheep of our company. But I liked the boy. I like his father less, and fear he will one day force us to deal with him extremely." In which prophecy Stephen Hopkins was only too right.