"Aunt Sairy," Dennis told her, "you're some punkins. One just naturally has to be somebody when you're around."
Abe smiled up at her shyly. "It is sort of like the magic in that story of Sinbad you gave me."
The other children were asleep. Abe sprawled on the floor, making marks on a wooden shovel with a pointed stick. Tom, seated in one of his wife's chairs, was dozing on one side of the fireplace.
Sarah put down her knitting and looked around the cabin. "The place does look right cozy," she replied. "What is that you're doing, Abe?"
"Working my sums."
Tom opened his eyes. "You know how to figure enough already. Put that shovel up and go to bed."
Abe took a knife and scraped the figures from the wooden shovel. He placed it against one side of the fireplace. "Good night, Mamma," he said.
"Good night, Abe."
Sarah's eyes were troubled. She waited until Dennis had joined Abe in the loft, then turned to her husband. "I've been meaning to tell you, Tom, what a good pa you've been to my young ones."
She saw that he was pleased. "I've tried to be a good mother to Abe and Sally, too," she went on.