Miss Gordon was so interested in her book that she did not notice Muriel’s suppressed excitement. The girl could think of nothing but the letter and its possible reception by the Mr. Storm, who, of course, was her father.
What if this unknown father might prove to be someone for whom she could not care? But she put that thought away from her. Of course she would dearly love the man whom her girl-mother had loved and trusted.
Then she wondered how far the letter would have to travel to reach him and how long a time would elapse before she would have a reply. Would that reply bid her go to another part of America to live?
It was midmorning when the girl’s revery was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone. Skipping to the doctor’s study, she lifted the receiver and upon hearing the voice at the other end her face brightened.
“Oh, Uncle Lem, I’m so glad you were able to get away. Yes, I’ll send Jabez right down to the station. You want Brazilla to make a double quantity of clam chowder. Why, Uncle Lem, how hungry you must be. All right, I’ll tell her. Good-bye.”
“Oh, isn’t that the jolliest!” Muriel beamed at Miss Gordon, whose book had been dropped to her lap when she learned that Doctor Winslow was in town. Into the kitchen the girl skipped when Jabez had been notified.
“What can I do to help?” Rilla asked, and Brazilla replied: “Well, maybe you’d better fetch out the best cloth and set the table extra fine. I reckon another log on the hearth would make the dinin’-room more cheerful like. Then thar’s a geranium on the south window sill that blossomed this morning. You might put that in the middle.”
“Put it in the middle of the fire?” the girl asked merrily. Then she whirled about and kissed the astonished housekeeper on the forehead.
“Oh, Brazilla,” she exclaimed, “please don’t mind my nonsense. I’m so excited about something that I can’t tell yet that I don’t know what I am about.”
“Wall, I should say, Rilly, that suthin’ onusual must a-gone to yer head. You don’t act at all natural, an’ yer cheeks are so red.”
Then, anxiously, the good woman added: “You don’t feel feverish, do you?”
“No, Brazilla. Honest Injun, I’m all right. Now I’ll get busy.”
The table was all set, and most attractive it looked when the joyous ringing of sleighbells was heard in the drive.