"How long does it take to telegraph to Cordova?" Twaddles wanted to know.
Father Blossom laughed as he gathered up his packages of fireworks.
"I knew that would be the next question," he said. "Why, Son, it takes several hours; it may be night, it may be to-morrow morning, before we hear from Mr. Harley."
"Did the mugs belong to his little boys?" asked Dot, skipping beside her father on the way to the bungalow. "Was he glad to get 'em, Daddy?"
"Very glad," answered Father Blossom. "The little silver mugs were given to the children by the Greenpier minister when they were christened."
Throughout the afternoon the children talked of little else than the Harley family. Mr. Harley had asked Father Blossom to search the brick-lined hole between the two rocks, thinking perhaps there might be something else hidden there. He himself was unwilling to leave Greenpier until an answer to his telegram had been received, even though he knew it could not come very soon.
Father Blossom searched carefully, but there was nothing else in the hole.
Mr. Harley did not come that afternoon, but the next morning the
Blossoms had just finished breakfast when he knocked at the door.
But such a changed Mr. Harley!
His eyes were bright and clear, and his face was beaming with happiness. He wore a new suit of clothes and a new hat and was freshly shaved. The Blossoms knew instantly that he had had good news.