"But there may be soldiers come by the south train," suggested Bingo. "We'll want some time to see them."
"Heaps of time," declared Gavin, pinching bits off the lump of play-wax. "Only three miles from here to Crumach, and we can see the soldiers after we've done Mums' shopping and got the post, if we don't before."
Joey looked up from her refractory laces, shaking her thick fair hair out of her eyes.
"But the letter might have come by the post, Gav. If it has, Mums will want to know at once, won't she?"
"'Course. I'd forgotten that letter might have come," Gavin answered more soberly. "There, leave that lace to dry hard, old girl, and you'll have a topping tag. Did the minister expect it so soon?"
"He said he just thought it might come."
"Will it come if you've failed to get the scholarship?" Kirsty asked.
Joey considered. "I don't know, but I shouldn't think they would write to everybody to tell them that they'd failed. Mr. Craigie said there were seven hundred and eighty-two candidates. Just think of all the stamps!"
The family did think, with a gasp. When they thought at all about money, it was as a thing which must be kept for boots and bread and margarine—never as a thing that you could squander recklessly on luxuries like stamps.
"No, I shouldn't think there would be a letter if you've failed," Ronnie agreed sadly. He had a right to be serious, for he was, after Joey, the person most immediately concerned with the all-important letter, which it was remotely possible that the postman might bring to Crumach to-day.