McIntyre of whom Mrs. Hollinger had spoken. He had a pleasant, clever face, with keen eyes behind his glasses, but he looked tired and sad.
“Good-morning,” he said. “I hope you had a good rest and were not disturbed in any way. We are all sadly upset here, of course.”
“They haven’t found the little boy?” asked Ilse.
Dr. McIntyre shook his head.
“No. They have given up the search. He cannot be living yet—after Tuesday night and last night. The swamp will not give up its dead—I feel sure that is where he is. My poor sister is broken-hearted. I am sorry your visit should have happened at such a sorrowful time, but I hope Mrs. Hollinger has made you comfortable. Grandmother McIntyre would be quite offended if you lacked for anything. She was very famous for her hospitality in her day. I suppose you haven’t seen her. She does not often show herself to strangers.”
“Oh, we have seen her,” said Emily absently. “She came into our room this morning and told us how she spanked the King.”
Dr. McIntyre laughed a little.
“Then you have been honored. It is not to every one Grandmother tells that tale. She’s something of an Ancient Mariner and knows her predestined listeners. She is a little bit strange. A few years ago her favourite son, my Uncle Neil, met his death in the Klondyke under sad circumstances. He was one of the Lost Patrol. Grandmother never recovered from the shock. She has never felt anything since—feeling seems to have been killed in her. She neither loves nor hates nor fears nor hopes—she lives entirely in the past and experiences only one emotion—a great pride in the fact that she once spanked the King. But I am keeping you from your breakfast—here comes Mrs. Hollinger to scold me.”
“Wait a moment please, Dr. McIntyre,” said Ilse hurtiedly. ‘I—you—we—there is something I want to show you.”
