Florence went back to the house, and soon afterwards Bertha Keys entered the oak parlor. In the course of the morning she sat next to Florence, who bent towards her and said, "I have had a long letter from my mother."
"Oh, indeed," said Bertha, changing color in spite of herself; "and what did she say?"
"She is coming to Cherry Court Park. Bertha, it is rather queer she has said nothing at all about the postoffice orders. I wonder if she got them safely."
"Is it likely she didn't?" replied Bertha, in a calm voice; "of course she did. She was too excited to think of them; to have an invitation of that sort would absorb her very much."
"It does absorb her very much indeed," replied Florence. "Doubtless she forgot. Well, I shall soon see her and be able to ask her all about the matter."
Sir John Wallis had arranged that the three girls who were to compete for the Scholarship were to arrive at Cherry Court Park early on the morning of the great day. They were to sleep there that night, and return to the school the following day. The rest of the school were to arrive in the evening, but the Scholarship girls were to have the run of the Hall, and were to be entertained as the honored guests during the whole of the important day.
No girls could possibly be more excited than these three when at last the morning broke. Florence, who had scarcely slept at all the previous night, felt that she would be almost glad, even if the worst befell her, to have the terrible ordeal over.
"By this time to-morrow I shall be the happiest girl in the world or the most truly miserable," she thought to herself. But the greatness of the ordeal now had a certain composing effect, and Kitty, Mary and Florence started off in Sir John's carriage in apparently high spirits.
"What do you think?" said Kitty, bending forward and touching Mary on the sleeve; "Sir John has promised if I succeed to send a cable to father. Isn't it perfectly splendid of him? He has not said anything to father about the cable. What a surprise and delight it will be if he gets it."
"I wish you would not tell me," said Mary; "when I look into your eyes and see all that this means to you I feel a perfect brute, and yet nevertheless I mean to play my very best to-night, and to sing with all my heart in my voice, and to answer each question as carefully as I can, for my dear, dear old father will be present. Oh, how happy, how delighted I shall be to meet him again!"