"Of course I am," she declared. "Now I'm going for the boys."
Mr. Tim laid a detaining hand on her arm.
"Not to-night; it's late, and it would make no end of fuss all around. But I'll tell them. They'll be on hand for breakfast, all right. Now go back to your own supper, yourself."
"All right," agreed Genevieve, reluctantly. "But—to-morrow, remember!"
"I ain't forgetting—to-morrow," nodded the man.
In the dining-room Genevieve was greeted with a merry clamor, under cover of which she said hurriedly to her father:
"It's all right. They'll come to-morrow."
"I guess you won't find we've left you much to eat," gurgled Elsie Martin, her mouth full of fried chicken.
"Oh, yes, I shall—in Texas," retorted Genevieve.
"But I'm so ashamed," apologized Cordelia. "I don't think we ought to eat so much."