“Goods have come,” called Mr. Ricketts from the mailbox one morning. The
pink freight card lay on top, and he seemed as pleased as anyone to find
it there. “Letter from out West too, I noticed, so I presume you folks
will be settled pretty soon.”
“I almost feel as if I ought to let him read what Mr. McRae says,” Mrs.
Craig said amusedly. “He’s so friendly and interested.”
As she opened the letter, the girls gathered around her chair,
eager-eyed and curious to see what it contained. Jean declared that she
liked the handwriting because it was firm and plain without any
flourishes. Kit was sure he used a stub pen and was rather morose and
dignified. Doris asked if she might keep the postage stamp for a
memento.
“You read it, dear. I’d much rather you did,” their mother said, handing
it over to Mr. Craig.
Rebecca was out in the buttery singing softly to herself about some day
when the mists had rolled in splendor from the beauty of the hills, so
there was just their own family together as they listened anxiously for
the verdict. The letter ran:
Saskatoon, Saskatchewan,
April 4th