He drew the back of his rough hand across his eyes.

The three little blue-clad girls stood toeing in, dangling their cotton-gloved hands.
"I thought you might have sent word by the butcher," said the little woman.

Her manner was softer, but she wanted to cover her defeat well.
"I couldn't think of butchers and all the wherewithals," said Ann, with stern dignity.

"I didn't think Abel's relations would lay it up against me if I didn't." The large man's face worked; tears rolled down his great cheeks.

He pulled out a red handkerchief and wiped his eyes.
"You'd ought to had a white handkerchief, father," whispered the little woman; then she turned to Ann.