“The dark man,” said Vada readily, but wrinkling her forehead struggling for the name.
“Uh!” agreed Jamie. “Mister Dames.”
Just for a moment a sharp question lit Scipio’s pale eyes. But the little ones had no understanding of it. And the next moment, as their father passed in through the doorway, they turned to the sand and stone castle they had been laboriously and futilely attempting to mold into some shape.
“Now you bring up more stones,” cried Vada authoritatively. “Run along, dear,” she added patronizingly, as the boy stood with his small hands on his hips, staring vacantly after his father.
Scipio gazed stupidly about the living-room. The slop-stained table was empty. The cookstove fire was out. And, just for a second, the thought flashed through his mind––had he returned too early for his dinner? No, he knew he had not. It was dinner-time all right. His appetite told him that.
For the moment he had forgotten what the children had told him. His simple nature was not easily open to suspicion, therefore, like all people of slow brain, this startling break in the routine of his daily life simply set him wondering. He moved round the room, and, without being aware of his purpose, lifted the curtain of turkey red, which served as a door to the rough larder, and peered in. Then, as he let the curtain fall again, something stirred within him. He turned towards the inner room, and his mild voice called––
“Jess.”
His answer was a hollow echo that somehow jarred his nerves. But he called again––
“Jess.”
Again came the echo. Then Vada’s small face appeared round the door-casing.