xpectancy. Mary Ellen was mounting the front stair.
She rapped loudly at Mrs. Handsomebody's bedroom door. There were whispers.
Then Mrs. Handsomebody's voice came decidedly:

"Go about your work with the utmost speed. Say nothing to the boys of this.
I shall tell them when they have had their breakfast."

In a moment she appeared at our door in her purple dressing-gown, an
expression of repressed excitement on her face. A sunbeam slanting through
the passage rested on the fringe of curl-papers about her head so that she
looked like some elderly saint wearing a rather ragged halo.

"I have received news," she announced, with more than usual firmness,
"which will make it necessary for us to rise immediately. Dress as quickly
as you can, and help your little brother. What a state you have got that
bed into! You deserve to be punished." She stood for a moment, her eyes
resting on us with a curious look, then, with a sigh, she turned away and
went back to her room.

At breakfast she still wore her dressing-gown, an unprecedented laxity.
Beside her on the table-cloth lay a crumpled piece of buff paper. So it was
by telegram that the news had come. Instantly I thought. The telegram is
from father. He is coming home. Maybe he is on his way. In London even! The
food would not go down my throat. Shudders of excitement shook me.

I looked at Angel. Taking advantage of Mrs. Handsomebody's absorption he
was spreading a second spoonful of sugar over his porridge. The Seraph was
staring, spoon in hand, into Mrs. Handsomebody's set face. He said--

"Mrs. Handsomebody, if I was to smile at you, would you smile back at me?"

"Alexander," replied Mrs. Handsomebody, "I hope I have never been found
wanting in courtesy. But, at present, I should prefer to see you eat your
breakfast with as much speed as possible. John, eat your porridge."

"I can't, please."

"Eat it instantly, sir."

"I can't," I repeated, beginning to blubber, "I want to see father!"

"Eat your porridge and you shall see him. He will be here at ten o'clock.
Silence, now, no uproar. My nerves are under quite enough strain." She
poured herself fresh tea, and continued:

"There will be no tasks today. After breakfast you will put on your best
jackets and collars, and sit in the parlour until he arrives. I implore you
to be as composed as possible."

The questions that poured from us were hushed by a gesture of her
inflexible, white hand. Dazed by the news, we we