"He got our fruit-cake at last, anyhow," said Marian with satisfaction. "I hate not knowing if things get there after you've sent them." She still shivered a little, though the brisk walk across the parade had now quite warmed the others.
"There goes the postman into your house with a big package, Lucy," said Julia as they crossed the grass from Colonel's to General's Row.
"Perhaps it's the present your father is going to send you for Thanksgiving, Marian," suggested Lucy.
"Maybe it is," agreed Marian, quickening her steps a little as they neared the house. "O-oh!" she breathed, once safely inside the Gordons' front door, "isn't it nice to be where it's warm!"
"Why, it's not so very cold," said Julia, laughing. "You are a regular pussy-cat, Marian."
"Except that she doesn't like cream—Mother tries to make her," remarked Lucy, examining the package the postman had left on the hall table. "It is for you, Marian. Here you are! Come on up-stairs, Julia, while we take off our things, and we will see what's inside. Can't we, Marian?"
"Of course," said Marian, pulling off her warm cap with one hand and picking up her box.
"I wonder where Mother is. I want to ask her about the party."
"Your mother went out with William, Miss Lucy," answered Margaret, who was passing through the hall. "She said she wouldn't be gone long."
"All right, thanks," said Lucy, leading the way up to her room.