The moment they had departed Scipio glanced forlornly round his home. It was a terrible home-coming. Three days ago in spite of all set-backs and shortcomings, hope had run high in his heart. Now--He left the twins standing and walked to the bedroom door. He looked in. But the curtains dropped from his nerveless fingers and he turned back to the living room, sick in mind and heart. For one moment his eyes stared unmeaningly at the children. Then he sat down on the chair nearest the table and beckoned them over to him. They came, thrilled with awe in their small wondering minds. Their father's distorted features fascinated yet horrified them. Jamie scrambled to one knee and Vada hugged one of the little man's arms. "We'll have to have dinner, kiddies," he said, with attempted lightness. "Ess," said Jamie absently. Then he reached up to the wound on his father's right cheek, and touched it gently with one small finger. It was so sore that the man flinched, and the child's hand was withdrawn instantly. "Oose's hurted," he exclaimed. "Pore poppa's all hurt up," added Vada tearfully. "Not hurt proper," said Scipio, with a wan smile. "Y'see, it was jest a game, an'--an' the boys were rough. Now we'll git dinner." But Vada's mind was running on with swift childish curiosity, and she put a sudden question. "When's momma comin' back?" she demanded. The man's eyes shifted to the open doorway. The golden sunlight beyond was shining with all the splendor of a summer noon. But for all his blackened eyes saw there might have been a gray fog of winter outside. "Momma?" he echoed blankly. "Ess, momma," cried Jamie. "When she comin'?" Scipio shook his head and sighed. "When she comin'?" insisted Vada. The man lowered his eyes till they focused themselves upon the yellow pup, now hungrily licking up the cold milk. "She won't come back," he said at last, in a low voice. Then with a despairing gesture, he added: "Never! never!" And his head dropped upon Jamie's little shoulder while he hugged Vada more closely to his side as though he feared to lose her too. CHAPTER X THE TRUST It was a blazing afternoon of the "stewing" type. The flies in the store kept up a sickening hum, and tortured suffering humanity--in the form of the solitary Minky--with their persistent efforts to alight on his perspiring face and bare arms. The storekeeper, with excellent forethought, had showered sticky papers, spread with molasses and mucilage, broadcast about the shelves, to ensnare the unwary pests. But though hundreds were lured to their death by sirupy drowning, the attacking host remained undiminished, and the death-traps only succeeded in adding disgusting odors to the already laden atmosphere. Fortunately, noses on Suffering Creek were not over-sensitive, and the fly, with all his native unpleasantness, was a small matter in the scheme of the frontiersman's life, and, like all other obstructions, was brushed aside physically as well as mentally.