"She came along home with us," said Louisa Ellen.
"She carried the gun for us," said Ellen Louisa.
"She is waiting at the front door."
"Who is waiting at the front door?" asked Sarah. Then she added fearfully, "Aunt Mena?"
"No, teacher."
"Teacher!" repeated Sarah. "Wh-what did she come for? Have you then not been smart?"
"For to see us," said Louisa Ellen impatiently. "She is coming for company. She—"
Sarah had crossed the lane, a milk-pail in either hand.
"Come," she called, in a voice which was meant to be a whisper, but which Miss Miflin, waiting on the broad doorstep, heard clearly. "Hurry yourselves, and fix a little up. Perhaps—" Sarah could scarcely speak for excitement. "Perhaps she will stay for supper."
A moment later, she opened the front door. Her black hair was brushed back a little more closely to her head, her face shone, the great white apron which she had hastily put on over her gingham one was much longer than her dress, and from the back her gray-stockinged ankles could be seen outlined against it in pathetic thinness.