"It's one of them," cried Rob, eagerly seizing the telegram from Wythie's hand. "It's the old gentleman, and he's coming to-morrow! Oh, Mardy and other girls, don't you hope it will be all right?"
"What will be all right? Hallo, Rob! We heard you were back, and we came to see the city polish you had acquired," cried Bruce. Battalion B had come in the front way unheard.
"Oh, hallo, nice big boys," cried Rob, turning to meet them with outstretched hands and her most April face. "I didn't get much polish in two days, I fear me, but I think and hope I got what I went for."
"Of course you did! We knew what would happen!" cried Basil. "We're going down to get your bag—our bag! We're anxious about it, so we're going to bring it up. Abbott told us you left it with him. And we're going to take you with us to identify us, so get your hat and come along, and on the way you can tell us all that you and Gotham did to each other."
"I suppose I might go to market with these foolish but spotless giraffes, Mardy," said Rob.
"Come with the giraffes, you little brown deer," remarked Bruce, in an undertone.
"And order something special for luncheon to-morrow when Mr. Armstrong is here," continued Rob, ignoring Bruce.
"Run along, Robin, and get ready while Wythie and I make out our list for you," said Mrs. Grey, with a brighter smile than her face had worn since the little grey house had lost its master.
Mr. Armstrong had come and gone. Roberta had taken him into the wainscoted room, and while her mother and Wythie listened in wondering admiration, showed their guest the working of the models, explaining each part, and making clear, through her memory of her dear Patergrey's words, that which none other of the family had understood.