"Where's Ralphie? Is he watching it, father? What is he doing?"
The little one had dropped on hands and knees before the kitten, and was gazing up into its face.
The mother leaned over him with a face that would have beamed with sunshine if the sun of sight had not been missing.
"Is he looking? Doesn't he want to coddle it?"
The little chap had pushed his nose close to the nose of the kitten, and was prattling to it in various inarticulate noises.
"Boo—loo—lal-la—mamma."
"Isn't he a darling, father?"
"It's a winsome wee thing," said the old man, still standing with drooping head over the group on the hearth.
The mother's face saddened, and she turned away. Then from the opposite side of the kitchen, where she was making pretense to take plates from a plate-rack, there came the sound of suppressed sobs. The old man's eyes followed her.
"Nay, lass; let's have a sup of broth," he said in a tone that carried another message.