Helen caught the sound of returning wheels on the drive about four o’clock. It was nearly dark. She stood on the front staircase, leaning over the balustrade to reach the big wrought iron hall lamp. When she opened the door widely, its rays shining through the leaded red glass, cast a path of welcome outside.
“Hello, there,” Jean called. “We’re all here.”
Doris jumped to the ground and took Joe by the hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He was shivering, but she hurried him around to the kitchen door and they burst in where Kit was getting supper. Over in a corner lay burlap sacks fairly oozing green woodsy things for the Christmas decoration at the church, and Kit had fastened up one long trailing length of ground evergreen over an old steel engraving of Daniel Webster that Cousin Roxy had given them.
“He ain’t as pretty as he might be,” she had said, pleasantly, “but I guess if George Washington was the father of his country, we’ll have to call Daniel one of its uncles.”
“Look, Kit,” Doris cried, quite as if Joe had been some wonderful gift from the fairies instead of a dusty, tired, limp little derelict of fate and circumstance. “This is Joe, and he’s come to stay with us. Where’s Mother?”
One quick look at Joe’s face checked all mirthfulness in Kit. There were times when silence was really golden. She was always intuitive, quick to catch moods in others and understand them. This case needed the Motherbird. Joe was fairly blue from the cold, and there was a pinched, hungry look around his mouth and nose that made Kit leave her currant biscuits.
“Upstairs with Father. Run along quick and call her, Dorrie.” She knelt beside Joe and smiled that radiant, comradely smile that was Kit’s special present from her fairy godmother. “We’re so glad you’ve come home,” she said, drawing him near the crackling wood fire. “You sit on the woodbox and just toast.” She slipped back into the pantry and dipped out a mug of rich, creamy milk, then cut a wide slice of warm gingerbread. “There now. See how that tastes. You know, it’s the funniest thing how wishes come true. I was just longing for somebody to sample my cake and tell me if it was good. Is it?”
Joe drank nearly the whole glass of milk before he spoke, looking over the rim at her with very sleepy eyes.
“It’s awful good,” he said. “I ain’t had anything to eat since yesterday morning.”
“Oh, dear,” cried Kit. This was beyond her. She turned with relief at Mrs. Robbins’ quick light step in the hall.