and pass the first helpings of the dishes to the "old cove
that had lost his missus."

They all seemed to forget him as we entered the Heads; they had
their own troubles to attend to. They were in the shadow of the shame
of coming back hard up, and the grins began to grow faint and sickly.
But I didn't forget him. I wish sometimes that I didn't take
so much notice of things.

There was no mistaking them -- the little group that stood apart
near the end of the wharf, dressed in cheap black. There was
the eldest single sister -- thin, pale, and haggard-looking --
that had had all the hard worry in the family till her temper was spoilt,
as you could see by the peevish, irritable lines in her face.
She had to be the mother of them all now, and had never known, perhaps,
what it was to be a girl or a sweetheart. She gave a hard,
mechanical sort of smile when she saw her father, and then stood
looking at the boat in a vacant, hopeless sort of way. There was the baby,
that he saw now for the first time, crowing and jumping
at the sight of the boat coming in; there was the eldest boy,
looking awkward and out of place in his new slop-suit of black,
shifting round uneasily, and looking anywhere but at his father.
But the little girl was the worst, and a pretty little girl she was, too;
she never took her streaming eyes off her father's face the whole time.
You could see that her little heart was bursting, and with pity for him.
They were too far apart to speak to each other as yet. The boat seemed
a cruel long long time swinging alongside -- I wished they'd hurry up.
He'd brought his traps up early, and laid 'em on the deck under the rail;
he stood very quiet with his hands behind him, looking at his children.
He had a strong, square, workman's face, but I could see