"Send her word!" said Mother, bewildered.
"Why, surely! Haven't you read in the papers how they send messages to trains that are moving? It's great, isn't it, Mother? To think this little dinky telephone puts you and me out here on this farm in touch with all the world."
"Do you mean you can send a telegram to her on board the train, Seth?" asked Mother, in astonishment.
"Sure!" said Father. "We've got all the numbers of everything. Just send to that express train that left to-night. What was it—Express number ten, and so on, and it'll be sent along and get to her."
"Well, I think I'd ask her to answer then, to make sure she got it. I think that's a mighty uncertain way to send messages to people flying along on an express train. If you don't get any word from her you'll never know whether she got it or not, and then you won't know whether to meet her at Sloan's or Maitland," said Mother, with a worried pucker on her forehead.
"Sure!" said Father, taking down the receiver. "I can do that."
"It's just wonderful, Seth, how much you know about little important things like that!" sighed Mother, when the telegram was sent. "Now, I think we better go right to bed, for I've got to get to baking early in the morning. I want to have bread and pies and doughnuts fresh when she comes."
It was while they were eating breakfast that the answer came:
Telegram received. Will come to Sloan's Station. Having comfortable journey. R.B.B.
"Now isn't that just wonderful!" said Mother, sitting back weakly behind the coffee-pot and wiping away an excited tear with the corner of her apron. "To think that can be done! Now, wouldn't it be just beautiful if we had telephones to heaven! Think, if we could get word from Stephen to-day, how happy we'd be!"