"
They both knew that that letter ought to have reached the hospital where
Bonnie Brentwood was supposed to be about six o'clock that evening, for
so they had calculated the time between Stephen's letters to a nicety;
but each was engaged in trying to keep the other from getting anxious
about the telegram that did not come. For it was now half past eight by
the kitchen clock, and both of them were as nervous as fleas listening
for that telephone to ring that would decide the fate of the pretty pink
room, whether it was to have an occupant or not.
"These white madras curtains look like there's been a frost on a cobweb,
don't they?" said Mother Marshall, holding up a pair all arranged upon
the brass rod ready to hang. "And just see how pretty this pink stuff
looks against it. I declare it reminds me of the sunset light on the
snow in the orchard out the kitchen window evenings when I was watching
for Steve to come home from school. Say, Father, don't you think those
book-shelves look cozy each side of the bay window? And wasn't it clever
of Jed Lewis to think of putting hinges to the covers on that
window-seat? She can keep lots of things in there! Wait till I get those
two pink silk cushions you made me buy. My! Father, but you and I are
getting extravagant in our old age! and all for a girl that may never
even answer our letter!"
There was a kind of sob in the end of Mother Marshall's words that she
tried to disguise, but Father caught it and flew to the rescue.
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