Yes, there lay their father stretched upon the floor, breathing heavily. But ’twas not the pleasant slumber into which Helen loved to see him fall when he returned weary from a hard day’s work; and after gazing on him a moment with an expression impossible to describe, she buried her face in her hands. Poor thing! well might she weep; and if a feeling of disgust mingled with her grief, may we not forgive her? He was breathing heavily; by his right hand lay an empty bottle with the neck broken off, and the air of the room was tainted with the fumes of liquor.
“Stop! let your father sleep,” she said to her son, who had knelt down and was playfully brushing the hair off his parent’s face. But this precaution was needless; the latter was too deep in his cups to be roused by the touch of the child’s hand, and presently, with a heavy heart, Helen turned away and set to work to prepare the dinner. There was no turkey to cook; still, she had intended to provide a somewhat better repast than ordinary, it being Christmas day. But, alas! she hardly knew what she was doing as she bustled about the stove; and when, by and by, dinner was ready, she tasted not a mouthful herself—all appetite had fled.
The children, however, ate heartily, pausing now and again to say: “Mamma, why don’t you call papa?”
It was evening when Roony awoke, and the moment Helen perceived that his eyes were open she began to tremble; for, though she did not doubt but he was sober by this time, she felt as if another man were near her, and not the one whom she had once so honored and trusted. And as he stared at her from the floor, he did indeed appear changed; there was a silly, vacant look on his face, his eyes were bloodshot, and it was almost five minutes before he attempted to rise. Then, without opening his lips, he got up and went out of the house, closing the door behind him with a slam.
“Well, I declare,” he said, tossing away the broken bottle—“I declare I’ve been drunk; and, what’s more, I told a lie and missed Mass. Will she ever forgive me?” Then stamping his foot: “Oh! what a fool I’ve been—what a wicked fool!”
Presently, while he was thus lamenting his sins, the door opened and a voice said: “Come to me, dear; come to me.”
“O Helen!” he cried, turning toward her, “can you forgive me, will you?”
“Come to me,” she repeated, opening wide her arms, but at the same time drawing back a step from the threshold; for curious eyes were watching them from a neighboring rock. Quick Roony flew into the shanty, then, dropping down on his knees, burst into tears. The wife wept too, while little Mike and Nell looked on in childish wonder at the scene.
“But, darling, why do you cry?” he exclaimed presently, rising to his feet. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”
Helen made no response, but brushing the tears away, twined her arms around his neck.