"They took Chris in the room, and Insley lifted him up to Robin's knee on the chair beside the bed. "'Hello--my nice daddy,' Chris says, in his little high voice, and smiles adorable. 'I--I--I was waitin' for you all this while.' "His father put out his hand, awful awkward, and took the child's arm about the elbow. I'll never forget the way the man's face looked. It didn't looked _used_, somehow--it looked all sort of bare and barren, and like it hadn't been occupied. I remember once seeing a brand-new house that had burned down before anybody had ever lived in it, and some of it stuck up in the street, nice new doors, nice hardwood stairway, new brick chimney, and everything else all blackened and spoiled and done for, before ever it had been lived in. That was what Chris's father's face made me think of. The outline was young, and the eyes was young--young and burning--but there was the man's face, all spoiled and done for, without ever having been used for a face at all. "'Hello, sonny,' he says, weak. 'Got a good home?' "'He's in a good home, with good people, Mr. Bartlett,' Insley told him. "'For keeps?' Chris's father asks, his eyes burning at Insley's over the boy's head. "'We shall look after him somehow, among us,' Robin says. 'Don't worry about him, Mr. Bartlett. He's all right.' "The father's look turned toward her and it sort of lingered there a minute. And then it lit up a little--he didn't smile or change expression, but his look lit up some. "'You're the kind of a one I meant,' he says. 'I wanted he should have a good home. I--I done pretty good for you, didn't I, Chris?' he says. "Chris leaned way over and pulled at his sleeve. 'You--you--you come in our house, too,' he says. "'No, sonny, no,' says the man. 'I guess mebbe I'm--goin' somewheres else. But I done well by you, didn't I? Your ma and I always meant you should hev a good home. I'm glad--if you've got it. It's nicer than bein' with me--ain't it? Ain't it?' "Chris, on Robin's knee, was leaning forward on the bed, his hand patting and pulling at his father's hand. "'If you was here, then it is,' the child says. "At that his father smiled--and that was the first real, real look that had come into his face. And he looked around slow to the rest of us. "'I wasn't never the kind to hev a kid,' he says. 'The drink had me--had me hard. I knew I'd got to find somebody to show him--about growin' up. I'm glad you're goin' to.' "He shut his eyes and Chris threw himself forward and patted his face. "'Daddy!' he cried, 'I wanted to tell you--I had that hot ice-cream an'--an'--an' tea on a litty wagon....' "Robin drew him back, hushed him, looked up questioning to Insley. And while we all set there, not knowing whether to leave or to stay, the man opened his eyes, wide and dark. "'I wish't it had been different,' he said. 'Oh--_God_....' "Chris leans right over, eager, towards him. "'Didn't he say anything back?' he says.