(Father always sits before the fireplace, whether there's a fire there or not.

And sometimes he looks _so_ funny sitting there, staring into those gray ashes just as if it was the liveliest kind of a fire he was watching.) As I said, he was there, but I had to speak twice before he looked up.
Then, for a minute, he stared vaguely.
"Eh?
Oh! Ah--er--yes, to be sure," he muttered then, "You have come with your books.

Yes, I remember." But there wasn't any twinkle in his eyes, nor the least little bit of an understanding smile; and I _was_ disappointed.

I _had_ been looking for it.

I knew then, when I felt so suddenly lost and heart-achey, that I had been expecting and planning all day on that twinkly understanding smile.