"I don't believe father's never coming;" and Bob sighed again.
By this time the herring had found a cindery resting-place on a plate before the fire, and the twins were sitting side by side, with their bare toes on the fender and their eyes fixed upon the door, watching eagerly, like two little terriers.
But the sigh was answered by a distant sound, the plod—plod—plodding of weary feet up the two flights of uncarpeted stairs.
Then there was a grand commotion! The cushionless armchair was dragged nearer the fire; the old slippers dropped sole uppermost into the fender. And then Bob and Tom clung with a vice-like embrace each to an arm of the tall, gaunt, kindly eyed man who had opened the door.
"Father, father! the 'erring's done just lubly. I am glad you're come at last!" This from Bob.
The father's hard, rough hand rested upon his tangled crop, but his eyes were looking into Tom's upturned face.
"And Tom, eh?" he asked.
"Jolly glad," answered the child readily.
Then the three sat down to their evening meal.
Would you like to know what it consisted of?