[Illustration]
Friday.
Good morning! Here _is_ some news! What do you think? You’d never,
never, never guess who’s coming to Lock Willow. A letter to Mrs.
Semple from Mr. Pendleton. He’s motoring through the Berkshires,
and is tired and wants to rest on a nice quiet farm--if he climbs
out at her doorstep some night will she have a room ready for him?
Maybe he’ll stay one week, or maybe two, or maybe three; he’ll see
how restful it is when he gets here.
Such a flutter as we are in! The whole house is being cleaned and
all the curtains washed. I am driving to the Corners this morning to
get some new oilcloth for the entry, and two cans of brown floor
paint for the hall and back stairs. Mrs. Dowd is engaged to come
to-morrow to wash the windows (in the exigency of the moment, we
waive our suspicions in regard to the piglet). You might think, from
this account of our activities, that the house was not already
immaculate; but I assure you it was! Whatever Mrs. Semple’s
limitations, she is a HOUSEKEEPER.
But isn’t it just like a man, Daddy? He doesn’t give the remotest
hint as to whether he will land on the doorstep to-day, or two weeks
from to-day. We shall live in a perpetual breathlessness until he
comes--and if he doesn’t hurry, the cleaning may all have to be
done over again.
[Illustration: “Old Grove is perfectly safe.”]
There’s Amasai waiting below with the buckboard and Grover. I drive
alone--but if you could see old Grove, you wouldn’t be worried as
to my safety.
With my hand on my heart--farewell.