"Now you just sit down," Emma ordered. "This is not a mule or an ax."
"I was just trying to help."
"Not with this." The glance she gave him was one of mingled tenderness and amusement.
Tad sat at the table, working expertly with a whetstone as he put a razor edge back on his knife. Carlyle, still so young that the use of his legs was new to him, wobbled precariously across the floor and grasped Joe's knee. He paused, his fascinated eyes riveted on something, and when Joe looked he saw a fish scale that clung to his trousers and reflected rainbow tints in the lamp light. Joe lifted the youngster into his lap, and Carlyle bent over so he could continue to watch the fish scale.
"Come on," Joe invited the other. "I know a story."
His little fist closed, Alfred came to stand before Joe. The youngster's eyes danced, a grin parted his lips.
"Present for you," he said, extending his closed fist.
Joe reached to take it, but when Alfred opened his fist there was nothing at all there and the child howled with glee. Joe looked intently at his hand, and he pretended to slip the gift into his pocket.
"Thanks," he said seriously, "that's just about the nicest present I ever had!"
Alfred looked puzzled. Dainty little Emma and sober Joe came to him, and Joe gathered all of them into his lap.