"No; he isn't. Not like this. And Mother Rheid looked so—too."
"How?" laughed Marjorie. "O, you funny Linnet."
"I wish I could laugh at it. But I heard something, too. Mother Rheid was talking to mother after church this afternoon, and I heard her say, 'distressing.' Father Rheid hurried me into the sleigh, and mother put her veil down; and I was too frightened to ask questions."
"She meant that she had a distressing cold," said Marjorie lightly. "'Distressing' is one of her pet words. She is distressed over the coldness of the church, and she is distressed when all her eggs do not hatch. I wouldn't be distressed about that, Linnet. And mother put her veil down because the wind was blowing I put mine down, too."
Linnet stirred the chocolate; but her face was still anxious. Will had not spoken of Morris. Could it be Morris? It was not like Will not to speak of Morris.
"Will did not speak of Morris. Did you notice that?"
"Does he always? I suppose Morris has spoken for himself."
"If Hollis doesn't come over by the time we are through tea, I'll go over there. I can't wait any longer."
"Well, I'll go with you to ease your mind. But you must eat some supper."
As Linnet placed the chocolate pot on the table, Marjorie exclaimed, "There they are! Mother Rheid and Hollis. They are coming by the road; of course the field is blocked with snow. Now your anxious heart shall laugh at itself. I'll put on plates for two more. Is there chocolate enough? And it won't seem so much like playing house."