“I declare, I’d go too if your father had come home,” she said.  “I don’t know when I’ve been anywhere; and Eva was in this afternoon and said that she and Jim were going.”

“I wonder where father is?” said Ellen, uneasily.  “I don’t know as I ought to go till he comes home.”

“Oh, stuff!” replied Fanny.  “He’s stopped to talk at the store.  Oh, here he is now.  Andrew Brewster, where in the world have you been?” she began as he entered; but his mother was following him, and something in their faces stopped her.  Fanny Brewster had lived for years with this man, but never before had she seen his face with just that expression of utter, unreserved joy; although joy was scarcely the word for it, for it was more than that.  It was the look of a man who has advanced to his true measure of growth, and regained self-respect which he had lost.  All the abject bend of his aging back, all the apologetic patience of his outlook, was gone.  She stared at him, hardly believing her eyes.  She was as frightened as if he had looked despairing instead of joyful.  “Andrew Brewster, what is it?” she asked.  She tried to smile, to echo the foolish width of grimace on his face, but her lips were too stiff.

Ellen looked at him, trembling, and very white under her knot of roses.  Andrew held out a paper and tried to speak, but he could not.

“For God’s sake, what is it?” gasped Fanny.

Then Mrs. Zelotes spoke.  “That old mining-stock has come up,” said she, in a harsh voice.  “He’d never ought to have bought it.  I should have told him better if he had asked me, but it’s come up, and it’s worth considerable more than he paid for it.  I’ve just been down to Mrs. Pointdexter’s, and Lawyer Samson was in there seeing her about a bond she’s got that’s run out, and he says the mine’s going to pay dividends, and for Andrew to hold on to part of it, anyhow.  I bought this paper, and it’s in it.  He never ought to have bought it, but it’s come up.  I hope it will learn him a lesson.  He’s had enough trouble over it.”

Nothing could exceed the mixture of recrimination and exultation with which the old woman spoke.  She eyed Fanny accusingly; she looked at Andrew with grudging triumph.  “Lawyer Samson says it will make him rich, he guesses; at any rate, he’ll come out whole,” said she.  “I hope it will learn you a lesson.”

Andrew dropped into a chair.  His face was distended with a foolish smile like a baby’s.  He seemed to smile at all creation.  He looked at his wife and Ellen; then his face again took on its expression of joyful vacuity.

Fanny went close to him and laid a firm hand on his shoulder.  “You ’ain’t had a mite of supper, Andrew Brewster,” said she; “come right out and have something to eat.”

Andrew shook his head, still smiling.  His wife and daughter looked at him alarmedly, then at each other.  Then his mother went behind him, laid a hard, old hand on each shoulder, and shook him.