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eyes, and their tired eyes sparkled, but not with realizations which reached their hearts very distinctly.
    “What would you like to do for your birthday?” he asked.
    “Why, Jay.” She was taken very much by surprise. “Why you nice thing! Why—why ...”
    “You think it over,” he said. “Whatever you’d like best—within reason, of course,” he joked. “I’ll see we manage it. The children, I mean.” They both remembered at the same time. He said, “That is, of course, if everything goes the way we hope it will, up home.”
    “Of course, Jay.” Her eyes lost focus for a moment. “Let’s hope it will,” she said, in a peculiarly abstracted voice.
    He watched her. That occasional loss of focus always mystified him and faintly disturbed him. Women, he guessed.
    She came back into this world and again they looked at each other. Of course, in a way, they both reflected, there isn’t anything to say, or need for us to say it, anyhow.
    He took a slow, deep breath and let it out as slowly.
    “Well, Mary,” he said in his gentlest voice. He took her hand. They smiled very seriously, thinking of his father and of each other, and both knew in their hearts, as they had known in their minds, that there was no need to say anything.
    They got up.
    Now where— ahh ,” he said in deep annoyance.
    “Coat n vest,” he said, starting for the stairs.
    “You wait,” she said, passing him swiftly. “Fraid you’d wake the children,” she whispered over her shoulder.
    While she was gone he went into the sitting room, turned on one light, and picked up his pipe and tobacco. In the single quiet light in the enormous quietude of the night, all the little objects in the room looked golden brown and curiously gentle. He was touched, without knowing why.
    Home.
    He snapped off the light.
    She was a little slow coming down; seeing if they’re covered, he thought. He stood by the stove, idly watching the flexions of the dark and light squares in the linoleum. He was glad he’d gotten it down, at last. And Mary had been right. The plain black and white did look better than colors and fancy patterns.
    He heard her on the stairs. Sure enough, first thing she said when she came in was, “You know, I was almost tempted to wake them. I suppose I’m silly but they’re so used to—I’m afraid they’re going to be very disappointed you didn’t tell them good-bye.”
    “Good night! Really?” He hardly knew whether he was pleased or displeased. Were they getting spoilt maybe?
    “I may be mistaken, of course.”
    “Be silly to wake em up. You might not get to sleep rest of the night.”
    He buttoned his vest.
    “I wouldn’t think of it, except: well” (she was reluctant to remind him), “if worst comes to worst, Jay, you might be gone longer than we hope.”
    “That’s perfectly true,” he said, gravely. This whole sudden errand was so uncertain, so ambiguous that it was hard for either of them to hold a focused state of mind about it. He thought again of his father.
    “You think praps I should?”
    “Let me think.”
    “N-no,” he said slowly; “I don’t reckon. No. You see, even, well even at the worst I’d be coming back to take you-all up. Funeral I mean. And these heart things, they’re generally decided pretty fast. Chances are very good, either way, I’ll be back tomorrow night. That’s tonight, I mean.”
    “Yes, I see. Yes.”
    “Tell you what. Tell them, don’t promise them or anything of course, but tell them I’m practicly sure to be back before they’re asleep. Tell them I’ll do my best.” He got into his coat.
    “All right, Jay.”
    “Yes. That’s sensible.” She reached so suddenly at his heart that by reflex he backed away; the eyes of both were startled and disturbed. With a frowning smile she teased him: “Don’t be frightened , little Timid Soul; it’s only a clean handkerchief and couldn’t possibly hurt you.”
    “I’m sorry,” he laughed, “I just didn’t know