“What time will he be here, Father?”
“On the nine-thirty.”
“Who?” Chicken Little demanded curiously.
“A man you have never seen, little daughter,” her father replied quietly.
So Chicken Little went off to school mystified but curious.
The great physician did his work carefully. It was before the days of germ cultures, and the apparatus for such tests had not reached the perfection of today. There was much room for professional judgment.
Dr. Morton and Marian’s mother were with Frank beside the bed. Frank looked miserably anxious in spite of his efforts at self control, and Marian’s big eyes were questioning and wistful.
Dr. Brownleigh smiled cheerfully down at her as he finished.
“Don’t be alarmed, Mrs. Morton, you will live to be a nice rosy-cheeked grandmother. I predict you’ll be plumper than your mother.”
The tension was broken and Marian sighed with relief.