ON THURSDAY Martin Meadows left the office early enough to make the first express bus home. It was the hour when the evening lilac glow was fading in the slushy streets, but by the time the bus had left the mid-town terminal the bright city night had e. On Thursdays the maid had a half-day off and Martin liked to get home as soon as possible, since for the past year his wife had not been -- well. This Thursday he was very tired and, hoping that nular uter would single him out for versation, he fastened his attention to the neer until the bus had crossed the Gee Washingte. On 9-W Highway Martin always felt that the trip was halfway done, he breathed deeply, even in cold weather when only ribbons ht cut through the smoky air of the bus, fident that he was breathing try air. It used to be that at this point he would relax and begin to think with pleasure of his home. But in this last year nearness brought only a sense of tension and he did not anticipate the journeys end. This evening Marti his face close to the window and watched the barren fields and lonely lights of passing townships. There was a moon, pale on the dark earth and areas of late, porous snow; to Martin the tryside seemed vast and somehow desolate that evening. He took his hat from the rad put his folded neer in the pocket of his overcoat a few minutes before time to pull the cord.
The cottage was a block from the bus stop, he river but not directly on the shore; from the living-room window you could look across the street and opposite yard ahe Hudson. The cottage was modern, almost too white and new on the narrow plot of yard. In summer the grass was soft and bright and Martin carefully tended a flower border and a rose trellis. But during the cold, fallow months the yard was bleak and the cottage seemed naked. Lights were on that evening in all the rooms itle house and Martin hurried up the front walk. Before the steps he stopped to move a wagon out of the way.
The children were in the living room, so i on play that the opening of the front door was at first unnoticed. Martin stood looking at his safe, lovely children. They had opehe bottom drawer of the secretary and taken out the Christmas decorations. Andy had mao plug in the Christmas tree lights and the green and red bulbs glowed with out-of-seasoivity on the rug of the living room. At the moment he was trying to trail the bright cord over Mariannes rog horse. Maria on the floor pulling off an angels wings. The children wailed a startling wele. Martin swung the fat little baby girl up to his shoulder and Andy threw himself against his fathers legs.
"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!"
Marti dowtle girl carefully and swung Andy a few times like a pendulum. Then he picked up the Christmas tree cord.
"Whats all this stuff doing out? Help me put it ba the drawer. Youre not to fool with the light socket. Remember I told you that before. I mean it, Andy."
The six-year-old child nodded and shut the secretary drawer. Martin stroked his fair soft hair and his hand lienderly on the nape of the childs frail neck.
"Had supper yet, Bumpkin?"
"It hurt. The toast was hot."
The baby girl stumbled on the rug and, after the first surprise of the fall, began to cry; Martin picked her up and carried her in his arms back to the kit.
"See, Daddy," said Andy. "The toast --"
Emily had laid the childrens supper on the uncovered porcelain table. There were two plates with the remains of