Resentment for the domestic treachery was uppermost in his mind, and he demanded surlily, when she had advanced within the sound of his words, “What hev ye kem hyar fur?”
“Ter stay,” she responded, briefly.
His hand in an uncertain gesture laid hold upon his tuft of beard.
“Fur good?” he faltered, amazed.
She nodded silently.
He stooped to lift down the lowest bar that she might pass. Suddenly the bundle she clasped gave a dexterous twist; a small head, with yellow downy hair, was thrust forth; a pair of fawn-like eyes fixed an inquiring stare upon him; the pink face distended with a grin, to which the two small teeth in the red mouth, otherwise empty, lent a singularly merry expression; and with a manner that was a challenge to pursuit, the head disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared, tucked with affected shyness under Evelina's arm.
She left Stephen standing with the bar in his hand, staring blankly after her, and ran into the cabin.
Her father had no questions to ask—nor she.
As he caught her in his arms he gave a great cry of joy that rang through the house, and brought Timothy from the barn, in astonishment, to the scene.
“Eveliny's home!” he cried out to Tim, who, with the ox-yoke in his hand, paused in the doorway. “Kem ter stay! Eveliny's home! I knowed she'd kem back to her old daddy. Eveliny's kem ter stay fur good.”