Ralph had swung the bat that had sent the baseball hurtling through the window with the force of a cannon shot.
"It is true—it is true!" breathed Ralph in a ghastly whisper, as the full consequence of his innocent act burst upon his mind.
He had to hold to a post to support himself, swaying there and looking down at the cold, mute face, sick at heart, and his brain clouded with dread.
It must have been a full five minutes before he pulled himself together, and tried to divest himself of the unnatural horror that palsied his energies.
He finally braced his nerves, and, advancing, knelt beside the prostrate boy.
Ralph placed his trembling hand inside the open coat, and let it rest over the heart. His own throbbed loud and strong with hope and relief, as under his finger tips there was a faint, faint fluttering.
"He is alive—thank heaven for that!" cried Ralph fervently.
He ran to the window. Through the broken pane he could view the baseball grounds and the clubhouse beyond.
Will Cheever was sitting outside of the house, and at a little distance another member of the
