Mrs. Kimper was human; she was a woman, and she finally rose to the occasion to the extent of kissing her husband, though immediately afterward she said, apparently by way of apology,—­

“I don’t know how I come to do that.”

“Neither do I, Nan; I don’t know how you can do anythin’ but hate me.  But you ain’t goin’ to have no new reason for doin’ it.  I’m goin’ to be different ev’ry way from what I was.”

“I hope so,” said Mrs. Kimper, releasing herself from her husband’s arms and taking up the cards again.  “I was just tellin’ my fortune by the keerds, havin’ nothin’ else to do, an’ they showed a new man an’ some money,—­though not much.”

“They showed right both times, though keerds ain’t been friends to this family, confound ’em, when I’ve fooled with ’em at the saloon.  Where’s the baby, though, that I ain’t ever seen?”

“There,” said the woman, pointing to a corner of the room.  Sam looked, and saw on the floor a bundle of dingy clothes from one end of which protruded a head of which the face, eyes, and hair were of the same tint as the clothing.  The little object was regarding the new arrival in a listless way, and she howled and averted her head as her father stooped to pick her up.

“She’s afraid you’re goin’ to hit her, like most ev’ry one does when they go nigh her,” said the mother.  “If I’d knowed you was comin’ to-day, I’d have washed her, I guess.”

“I’ll do it myself now,” said the father, “I’ve got the time.”

“Why, you ain’t ever done such a thing in your life, Sam!” said Mrs. Kimper, with a feeble giggle.

“More’s the shame to me; but it’s never too late to mend.  When’ll Billy get home, an’ Tom?”

“Goodness knows; Billy gets kep’ in so much, an’ Tom plays hookey so often, that I don’t ever expect either of ’em much ’fore supper-time.  They talk of sendin’ Tom to the Reform School if he don’t stop.”

“I’ll have to stop him, then.  I’ll try it, anyway.”

“It needs somebody that can wollup him harder’n I can; he’s gettin’ too big for my stren’th.  Well, if here they don’t both come!  I don’t know when I’ve seen them two boys together before, ‘less they was fightin’.  I wonder what’s got into ’em to-day.”

The two boys came through the back yard, eying the house curiously, Billy with wide open eyes, and Tom with a hang-dog leer from under the brim of his hat.  Their father met them at the door and put his arms around both.

“Don’t do that,” said Tom, twitching away, “that sort o’ thing’s for women, an’ gals an’ babies.”

“But I’m your dad, boy.”

“Needn’t make a baby of me, if you be,” growled the cub.

“I’d give a good deal, old as I am, if I had a dad to make a baby of me that way, if ’twas only for a minute.”

“Oh, don’t be an old fool,” said Tom.

“I heerd in the village you’d been let out,” said Billy, “an’ so I found Tom an’ told him, an’ he said I lied, an’ so we come home to see.  Did you bring us anythin’?”