However, as the time drew near for his father’s visit Sunny Boy cheered up, and by the morning that Daddy was expected he felt quite like his usually sunny self.
“Are you going to meet Daddy?” he asked Mother that morning, as he brushed his hair after she had parted it for him.
“I don’t believe I’ll go down,” answered Mrs. Horton. “If you and Grandpa go, that will be enough and I’ll be at the gate waiting for you.”
“Daddy’s coming!” Sunny Boy pounded his spoon against his bread and milk bowl.
“Sunny!” said Mother warningly.
“He’s most here now!” and Sunny’s feet hammered against the table so that the coffee pot danced a jig.
“Sunny Boy!” implored Grandma.
“I’m going to meet him!” This time Sunny Boy upset his glass of water with a wild sweep of his arm.
Grandpa pushed back his chair.
“I think we’d better start,” he observed, “before a certain young man goes out of the window. If you’re as glad as all this to think that Daddy’s coming, what are you going to do when you really see him?”