"Well it's worth going away, to come back again, ain't it?" said Mr. Landholm, when they were gathered round the fire that first evening.
"No," said his wife.
"Well, I didn't think so last winter," said the father of the family, drawing his broad hand over his eyes.
"I can tell you, I have thought so this great while," said Rufus. "It's — it's seven or eight months now since I have been home."
"Papa," said little Winifred, squeezing in and climbing up on her father's knees, — "we have wanted you every night."
"You did!" said her father, bending his face conveniently down to her golden curls; — "and what did you do by day?"
"O we wanted you; but then you know we were so busy in the day-time."
"Busy!" said her father, — "I guess you were busy!"
She made herself busy then, for putting both arms round his neck she pressed and kissed his face, till feeling grew too excited with the indulgence of it, and she lay with her head quite still upon his shoulder where nobody could see her eyes. The father's eyes told tales.
"I think Winifred has forgotten me," observed Rufus.