But when I went back to them, hoping for a warmer welcome, and anxious about their poor empty stomachs, there was Tom, sitting on the chair between their beds, chatting to them, and they to him, as if nothing had occurred—aye, although Waif had been deposed and banished. Another chair had been dragged up, and a tray stood on it—a tray piled with food, duck and sweetbread, cold beef and tongue, all mixed together—which he was serving out in lavish helpings, with plenty of bread-and-butter. Harry, leaning on his elbow, rested his head on his father's arm; Bob, crouched at his knees on the floor, looked up at him with his dear merry eyes, that bore no malice—not even a reproach. They did not see me at the door, where I stood a minute to watch them, suffocated by the sense of being shut out.
I did not think it was quite right of Tom. But I did not say so. When he called to me to come in and be apologised to—the boys did it handsomely, but still rather perfunctorily, I fancied—I was glad to let bygones be bygones, and to feel we were a united family once more.
And I thought the incident ended there. Nothing more was said about it while Tom remained at home, and he went away as usual, giving me—even me—not the faintest indication of what was in his mind. So that I was completely dumfoundered when, on his next return, he said, in a tremulous tone of voice and with quite a tragic air generally:
"Well, Polly, I've done it."
"What?" I cried, guessing his meaning in an instant, for I remembered his remark at tea that night when we were all so unhappy. "You don't mean to say you have thrown up your command—thrown away everything—just now, when we want so badly to increase our income and not to lessen it—without a word of warning?"
"No warning?" quoth he. "Why, haven't you been at me every day for the last dozen years to do it? And quite right too. It's bad for boys to grow up without a father to look after them, and their welfare is of more importance than anything else."
"You say that, and at the same time take away all chance of their having a decent education and a fair start in the world! How am I to keep them at the Grammar School, and have a governess for the girls, and support the house and all, on my poor three hundred a year?"
I should not have said it, and could have cut my tongue out before the words were half uttered, but somehow the first news of the shock that we were to lose half our income, on which we already found it no easy matter to make ends meet, was overwhelming. And we were so accustomed to speak freely whatever was in our minds that I never anticipated he would take a chance remark so ill. I suppose his interview with the owners had agitated him; as I heard afterwards, the whole office had expressed regrets at his leaving the service, and said all kinds of nice and flattering things about him; otherwise I am sure he would not have given way as he did. He just turned from me, put his arms on the mantelpiece, and, dropping his head down, gave a sob under his breath. My own good husband! That ever I should have been the cause—however innocently—of bringing a tear to his dear eyes, a moment's pang to his faithful heart!
Of course he forgave me at once—he always does; and in a few minutes we were talking things over in peace and comfort, while I sat on his knee—for the children were in school, happily.
"As for income, Polly, you don't suppose I am going to live on you?" he said—and a very unkind thing it was to say, as I told him. "You don't imagine I intend to sit at home and twiddle my thumbs, while you take the whole burden on your little shoulders—do you?"