The next twenty-four hours were tense with expectation and fear. Helena's mind veered almost with every breath: He had not telegraphed because he had not received her despatch; because he was away from home; because he was coming on Saturday;—because he was sorry Frederick was dead…
Saturday morning she and David watched the hill road from nine o'clock until stage-time. From the green bench under the poplar, the tavern porch on Main Street could just be seen; and at a little before twelve Jonas's lean, shambling nags drew up before it. Mrs. Richie was very pale. David, fretting at the dullness of the morning, asked her some question, but She did not hear him, and he pulled at her skirt. "Does everything grow?"
"Yes, dear, yes; I suppose so."
"How big is everything when it begins to grow?"
"Oh, dear little boy, don't ask so many questions!"
"When you began to grow, how big were you? Were you an inch big?"
"If he has come," she said breathlessly, "the stage will get up here in fifteen minutes!"
David sighed.
"Oh, why don't they start?" she panted; "what is the matter!"
"It's starting," David said.