"A whale, mamma!" repeated Nellie contemptuously. "As if there were anything remarkable about a whale! Mr. Juxon has seen billions of whales, I am sure."
"Well, what was it, dear?"
"It was the most awfully tremendous thing with green and blue scales, a thousand times as big as the ship—oh mamma! What was that?"
Nellie started up from her stool and knelt beside her mother, looking towards the window. Mrs. Goddard was deathly pale and grasped the arm of her chair.
"Somebody knocked at the window, mamma," said Nellie breathlessly. "And then somebody said 'Mary'—quite loud. Oh mamma, what can it be?"
"Mary?" repeated Mrs. Goddard as though she were in a dream.
"Yes—quite loud. Oh mamma! it must be Mary's young man—he does sometimes come in the evening."
"Mary's young man, child?" Mrs. Goddard's heart leaped. Her cook's name was Mary, as well as her own. Nellie naturally never associated the name with her mother, as she never heard anybody call her by it.
"Yes mamma. Don't you know? The postman—the man with the piebald horse." The explanation was necessary, as Mrs. Goddard rarely received any letters and probably did not know the postman by sight.
"At this time of night!" exclaimed Mrs. Goddard. "It is too bad. Mary is gone to bed."