It was Father who took down the receiver. "A telegram? For Mr. Seth
Marshall! Yes, I'm listening! Write it down, Mother! A telegram!"
"Mercy! Perhaps she wasn't well enough to start!" gasped mother, putting
her pencil in place.
Miss Brentwood left to-night at nine-fifteen on express
number ten, car Alicia lower berth number eight. Please let
me know if she arrives safely.
PAUL COURTLAND.
"Now isn't that thoughtful of him!" he said, as he hung up the receiver.
"He must have sensed we wanted to send her word, and now we can do it!"
"Send her word!" said Mother, bewildered.
"Why, surely! Haven't you read in the papers how they send messages to
trains that are moving? It's great, isn't it, Mother? To think this
little dinky telephone puts you and me out here on this farm in touch
with all the world."
"Do you mean you can send a telegram to her on board the train, Seth?"
asked Mother, in astonishment.
"Sure!" said Father. "We've got all the numbers of everything. Just send
to that express train that left to-night. What was it--Express number
ten, and so on, and it'll be sent along and get to her."
"Well, I think I'd ask her to answer then, to make sure she got it. I
think that's a mighty uncertain way to send messages to people flying
along on an express train. If you don't get any word from her you'll
never know whether she got it or not, and then you won't know whether to
meet her at Sloan's or Maitland," said Mother, with a worried pucker on
her forehead.
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