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 tomorrow 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 today, or two weeks from
today. 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.
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.