the sound of a
faint jingling from without, and moved slowly to the gate, where Mr.
Hobart was putting the mail into the box. She opened her mother's letter
listlessly as she walked back to the house, and sat down upon the
door-step to read it--perhaps it would take her mind for a moment, this
odd, unconscious letter, addressed even to a house which no longer
sheltered them. But the letter smote her with new terror.

"Oh, if you only knew, my dear, dear chicks, what it
will be to escape this kindly imprisonment--what it will
mean to see you all again! I can hardly wait to come
up the dear old familiar path to 24 Westover Street and
hug you all--I'll hug Ken, even if he hates it, and Kirk,
my most precious baby! They tell me I must be very
careful still, but I know that the sight of you will be
all that I need for the finishing remedy. So expect me,
then, by the 12.05 on Wednesday, and good-by till then,
my own dears."

Felicia sat on the door-stone, transfixed. Her mother coming home, on
Wednesday--so much sooner than they had expected! She did not even know
of the new house; and if she were to come to a home without Kirk--if
there were never to be Kirk! Almost a week remained before Wednesday;
how could she be put off? What if the week went by without hope; no
hope, ever? Felicia sat there for hours, till the sun of late afternoon
broke through the fog at last, and the mellow fields began one by one to
reappear, reaching into the hazy distance. Felicia rose and went slowly
into the house. On top of the organ lay the book of stories and poems
she had written out in Braille for Kirk. It lay open, as he had left it,
and she glanced at the page.

"When the voices of children are heard on the green,
And laughing is heard on the hill,
My heart is at rest within my breast,
And everything else is still.
Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down,
And the dews of the night arise.'". .. .

Felicia gave up the struggle with her grief. Leaving the door of
Applegate Farm wide, she fled blindly to the Maestro. He was playing to
himself and smiling when she crept into the library, but he stopped
instantly when he saw her face. Before she could help herself, she had
told him everything, thrust her mother's letter into his hand, and then
gave way to the tears she had fought so long. The Maestro made no sign
nor motion. His lips tightened, and his eyes blazed suddenly, but that
was all.

He was all solicitude