"Probably Wednesday night."
("Then I'll have time to get some pink velvet and make a cushion for the little rocker. They do have pink velvet, I'm sure!")
"Will write."
("Then we'll really know what she's like if she writes!")
Mother Marshall's happy thoughts were in a tumult, but she had her head about her yet.
"Now, make him say it all over from the beginning again, Father, and see if we've got it right. You speak the words out as he says 'em, and I'll watch the writing."
And so at last the message was verified and the receiver hung up. They read the message over together, and they looked at each another with glad eyes.
"Now let us pray, Rachel!" said Father, with solemn, shaken voice of joy. And the two lonely old people knelt down by the little table on which stood the telephone and gave thanks to God for the child He was about to send to their empty home.
"Now," said Father Marshall, when they had risen, "I guess we better get a bite to eat. Seems like a long time since dinner. Any of that cold chicken left, Mother? And a few doughnuts and milk? And say, Mother, we better get the chores done up and get to bed early. I don't think you slept much last night, and we've got to get up early. There's a whole lot to do before she comes. We need to chirk up the rest of the house a bit. Somehow we've let things get down since Stephen went away."
Said Mother, as she landed the platter of cold chicken on the table, "How soon do you s'pose she'll write? I'm just aching to get that letter!"