rry bloom about
the frieze. Such a transformation of the dingy old room in such a little
time! Arm in arm they went over to the window-seat and sat leaning
stiffly against the two pink silk cushions, and looking out across the
rosy sunset snow in the orchard, thinking wistfully of the boy that used
to come whistling up that way and would never come to them so again.
Then, just as Father drew a sigh, and a tear crept out on Mother's cheek
(the side next the window), a long-hoped-for, unaccustomed sound burst
out below-stairs! The telephone was ringing! It was Sunday evening at
sunset, and the telephone was ringing!

Wildly they both sprang to their feet and clutched each other for a
moment.

"I'll go, Mother," said Father, in an agitated voice. "You just sit
right here and rest till I get back!"

"No! I'll go, too!" declared Mother, trotting after. "You might miss
something and we ought to write it down!"

In breathless silence they listened for the magic words, Mother leaning
close to catch them and trying to scratch them down on a corner of the
telephone book with the stump of a pencil she kept for writing recipes:

"Your wonderful invitation accepted with deep gratitude!"

"What's that, Father? Make him say it over again!" cried Mother,
scribbling away. "'Your wonderful invitation--(Oh, she liked it, then!)
accepted'--She's coming, Father!"

"Will start as soon as possible!"

("Then she's really coming!")

"Probably Wednesday night."

("Then I'll have time to get some pink velvet and make a cushion for the
little rocker. They do have pink velvet, I'm sure!")

"Will write."

("Then we'll really know what she's like if she writes!")

Mother Marshall's happy thoughts were in a tumult, but she had her head
about her yet.

"Now, make him say it all over from the beginning again, Father, and see
if we've got it right. You speak the words out as he says 'em, and I'll
watch the writing."

And so at last the message was verified and the receiver hung up. They
read the message over together, and they looked at each another with
glad eyes.

"Now let us pray, Rachel!" said Father, with solemn, shaken voice of
joy. And the two lonely old people knelt down by the little table on
which stood the telephone and gave thanks to God for the child He was
about to send to their empty home.

"Now," said Father Marshall, when they had risen, "I guess we better get
a bite to eat. Seems like a long time since dinner. Any