Inside the house a light flashed on. The bright beam shining through the window drew Penny’s attention to a series of freshly-made footprints criss-crossing the porch.
“Mrs. Weems must have had a visitor,” she thought, observing that the heel marks were made by a woman’s shoe.
As Penny reached for the door knob, her glance fell upon a long, narrow envelope which protruded from the tin mailbox. She removed it, wondering why the housekeeper had neglected to do so.
Mrs. Weems opened the door.
“Thank goodness, you’re home at last, Penny. I fell asleep on the davenport. There isn’t any word—”
“Not a scrap of news,” Penny completed.
Dropping the letter on the center table, she removed her wraps and flung herself full length on the davenport.
“You poor child!” Mrs. Weems murmured. “You’re practically exhausted. Please go straight to bed. I’ll fix some warm milk and perhaps you can sleep.”
“I don’t feel as if I’d ever sleep again,” Penny declared. “I’m tired, but I feel so excited and tense.”
Mrs. Weems picked up the girl’s coat and cap. Shaking them free of snow, she hung the garments in the closet.