"Davey," she said, "I felt the draught—you have left the door open—I knew you were here.
"Oh! Davey, to-day the twenty-year limit seems quite the possible thing. My dear, my dear, Joan is coming home!"
Martin met Doris midway of the big room. He was startled at the change in her.
"I heard that a telegram had come. It's great news, Doris."
"Queer, isn't it, Davey, how one can brace and bear a good deal while there is the necessity, and then realize the strain only when the need is past? Joan says only 'coming home,' but I know as surely as I ever knew anything that it has been for the best and she is coming gladly to me—coming home! I could not have endured the silence much longer."
Martin put his arm around Doris and led her to the hearth. A mild little fire was crackling cheerfully, rather shyly, between the tall jars of dogwood that seemed to question the necessity of the small blaze.
"Davey, I want to talk to you. There are so many things to say if you are absent twenty-four hours. How goes the cabin?"
"Like magic. It will be livable by June or before. The men like to have me pothering around, and I've discovered that one never really has a house unless he helps build it. I'm going to get Bud down the minute I can put a bed up. And, Doris——"
"Yes, Davey."
"I've been eavesdropping, I've been here a half hour. I heard what Nancy said—let the child have her wish!"