Out in the kitchen, Elmira pressed close to Jerome. “Is it,” she whispered in his ear—“is it father?”
Jerome nodded.
“How do you know?”
“I remember.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, he's grown old, but I remember.”
“Where—did he—come from?”
“I don't know. We must wait till he wakes up.”
The brother and sister huddled close together over the fire, and waited. Elmira held Jerome's hand fast in her little cold one.
“What's in that little tin trunk?”