From the very first, Bobby missed her greatly. Most of all he missed her at evening, when she was not there to tell him a good-night story. But for the first week he stood it very well, his extra chores helping to pass the time away.
After that it seemed such a long time since he had seen her, and such a very long time until he would see her, that he could scarcely wait.
Every morning he counted the days until she would come home. When the second week had passed, he could say, "Only seven more days until Mother comes home."
That day, after he had fed the chickens and ducks and filled the wood box, he went into the sitting-room and sat in Mother's rocker and looked out through her favorite window.
Then he noticed how dirty it was.
"That will never do," thought Bobby. "Her window must be as bright and shiny as if she were here to look at it."
Bobby washed the big window on the inside and then he went outside. By standing on the kitchen stool and getting Aunt Martha to push down the upper sash, he could reach the top.
So with feeding the chickens and the ducks, and romping with Rover, and looking after Betty, and watching the men at work, and playing with his blocks and trains, and reading a book which Mother sent him, another week passed.
At last came the morning when it was only a few hours before she would come.
Bobby could hardly eat any breakfast for the joy of it.