Porter Hudson was the first to tear open an envelope.
"Susie!" he shouted almost instantly, "mother's got home."
Her fingers were busy with her own letter for a moment, and then she turned to Mrs. Farnham.
"Aunt Sarah!"
"O Susie! I know what you mean. They want you at home."
"Yes," said aunt Judith, "I suppose we've got to say good-by to 'em pretty soon."
"And there's no winter at all in the city," said Port. "No snow to be seen, and some of the buds are beginning to show."
The letters had a powerful effect upon all the gathering around that dinner-table; and Pen thought she had settled the difficulty, or nearly so, when she broke a long silence with,—
"They might just as well all come up here and live. There's room for 'em all, and it's ever so much better than the city is."
There was no immediate haste called for, but winter was over. Word came from the village in the morning, that the flood was going down fast, and the mill was entirely safe, and that everybody was talking about the feat performed by Vosh Stebbins. It looked as if Mr. Farnham's part of it was a little neglected, and Pen remarked with some jealousy,—