“Ready, daddy!”
And her faithful little echo cried:
“Ready, daddy!”
They were both under the covers, grinning from ear to ear. Their clothes were scattered all over the room, but he decided not to notice that to-night. He even had an impulse to pretend to forget their prayers, for fear of troubling them, but he resisted that. He didn’t insist upon any great accuracy, however.
“Now,” he said, “I’m going to be there in the sitting room. You can see the light from your beds. If you want anything, call me.”
Then he turned out their lamps, opened their windows, and kissed them in a cheerful, casual way, fighting down his longing to catch them up, to hold them fast, tight in his arms, after these six long months.
“Night, daddy!” they called simultaneously.
He sat down with a new book to read; but after all he could not read. Here they were, safe in his care, surrounded with everything they ought to have—except one thing.
He smoked, staring at nothing. They were here with him, his children, and yet there was a desolation in the place. He felt it, and he knew they must feel it.
He put down his cigar and went into Renie’s room. She was sound asleep. He touched her head, found it damp with perspiration, and took off the eider down quilt, which she had pulled up.