The moment they had departed Scipio glanced forlornly round his home. It was a terrible home-coming. Three days ago in spite of all set-backs and shortcomings, hope had run high in his heart. Now––He left the twins standing and walked to the bedroom door. He looked in. But the curtains dropped from his nerveless fingers and he turned back to the living room, sick in mind and heart. For one moment his eyes stared unmeaningly at the children. Then he sat down on the chair nearest the table and beckoned them over to him. They came, thrilled with awe in their small wondering minds. Their father’s distorted features fascinated yet horrified them.
Jamie scrambled to one knee and Vada hugged one of the little man’s arms.
“We’ll have to have dinner, kiddies,” he said, with attempted lightness.
“Ess,” said Jamie absently. Then he reached up to the wound on his father’s right cheek, and touched it gently with one small finger. It was so sore that the man flinched, and the child’s hand was withdrawn instantly.
“Oose’s hurted,” he exclaimed.
“Pore poppa’s all hurt up,” added Vada tearfully.
“Not hurt proper,” said Scipio, with a wan smile. “Y’see, it was jest a game, an’––an’ the boys were rough. Now we’ll git dinner.”
But Vada’s mind was running on with swift childish curiosity, and she put a sudden question.
“When’s momma comin’ back?” she demanded.