"It's such a pity that little flyaway of a Horace didn't give you the letter in time," said Louise; "and then we might have had some days to get used to it."
"Wait a minute, dear," said aunt Madge, as Susy came in for a drink of water: "please run up and ask aunt Maria to come down stairs. Now, mother," she added, "you are the one to tell the story, if you please."
"We can all break it to her by degrees," said Mrs. Parlin, twisting her checked apron nervously.
When Mrs. Clifford entered the kitchen, she saw at once that something had happened. Her mother, with a flushed face, was opening and shutting the stove door. Margaret was polishing a pie-plate, with tears in her eyes, and Louise had seized a sieve, and appeared to be breaking eggs into it. Nobody wanted to speak first.
"What do you say to hearing a story?" uttered Louise.
"O, you poor woman," exclaimed Margaret, seizing Mrs. Clifford by both hands: "you look so sorrowful, dear, as if nothing would ever make you happy again. Can you believe we have a piece of good news for you?"
"For me?" Mrs. Clifford looked bewildered.
"Good news for you," said Louise, dropping the sieve to the floor: "yes, indeed! O, Maria, we thought Henry was killed; but he isn't; it's a mistake of the papers. He's alive, and coming home to-night."
All this as fast as she could speak. No wonder Mrs. Clifford was shocked! First she stood quiet and amazed, gazing at her sister with fixed eyes: then she screamed, and would have fallen if her mother and Margaret had not caught her in their arms.
"O, I have killed her," cried Louise: "I didn't mean to speak so quick! Henry is almost dead, Maria: he is nearly dead, I mean! He's just alive!"