It ’s getting too dark to see; anyway, the news is all used up.
Good night,
Judy.
Friday.
Good morning! Here is some news! What do you think? You ’d never, never, never guess who ’s coming to Lock Willow. A letter to Mrs. Semple from Mr. Pendleton. He ’s motoring through the Berkshires, and is tired and wants to rest on a nice quiet farm—if he climbs out at her doorstep some night will she have a room ready for him? Maybe he ’ll stay one week, or maybe two, or maybe three; he ’ll see how restful it is when he gets here.
Such a flutter as we are in! The whole house is being cleaned and all the curtains washed. I am driving to the Corners this morning to get some new oilcloth for the entry, and two cans of brown floor paint for the hall and back stairs. Mrs. Dowd is engaged to come to-morrow to wash the windows (in the exigency of the moment, we waive our suspicions in regard to the piglet). You might think, from this account of our activities, that the house was not already immaculate; but I assure you it was! Whatever Mrs. Semple’s limitations, she is a HOUSEKEEPER.
But is n’t it just like a man, Daddy? He does n’t give the remotest hint as to whether he will land on the doorstep to-day, or two weeks from to-day. We shall live in a perpetual breathlessness until he comes—and if he does n’t hurry, the cleaning may all have to be done over again.
There ’s Amasai waiting below with the buckboard and Grover. I drive alone—but if you could see old Grove, you would n’t be worried as to my safety.