And catching the tiny girl in his arms, he flung her aloft and caught her as she came down, fairly smothering her with kisses, while his own eyes grew dim with tears.
“Now, Fulton, my little man, it is your turn!”
But the longing gaze showed no sign of the little fellow through the open door, and he turned affrightedly to the wife who had sunk upon the bench just outside, and was on the verge of swooning.
“Molly!” he said, releasing Fannie, and tenderly placing his hand upon his wife’s shoulder; “what is the trouble? Where is Fulton?”
“I—don’t—know!” was the faint response.
“Why, mamma let him go to Mr. Murray’s,” said the sister in her artless manner, “and he hasn’t come back yet.”
It was the father now who was in danger of giving way. The loved forms, the house and all objects in his field of vision began flickering in an odd fashion before his eyes—darkness hovered in the air, and he stepped weakly to the bench, beside his wife, without uttering a word.
But he was a strong man, and speedily gained the mastery of himself. Molly had done the same, and with the eager eyes of her husband fixed upon her white face, she told her story.
Their little boy had gone to the home of Captain Murray, as Fannie said, to spend the day with the captain’s children. He went early in the morning, and she had no expectation of seeing him again until late in the afternoon.