ile Ezra P. Hipps addressed himself to a
liberal helping of saddle of mutton smeared with great dollops of red
currant jelly that looked to her like blood.

CHAPTER 25.

MR. BOLT DROPS IN.

An undercurrent of suppressed excitement pulsed through Mrs.
Barraclough's household on the day of the seventeenth. You could feel
it throbbing like the beat of a distant drum. Voices sounded
different, eyes shone strangely, feet touched the ground as though it
lacked solidity. A sense of electricity was in the air, like the
unnatural calm that is herald to a storm. Mrs. Barraclough herself was
the one person outwardly unaffected by the general mood and set about
her daily duties as though nothing were happening. She never even
mentioned Anthony's name but instead freely discussed the imminent
confinement of Mrs. Brassbound, the wife of the village policeman. She
loved babies and it struck her as a happy omen that the little arrival
was expected on the very day that should mark her son's return from
excursions and alarums.

Isabel rang her up during the morning--a trunk call--with the brave
intention of expressing firm and unshakable optimism but the effort was
pathetically tremulous and finally petered out with inarticulate sobs
and chokings.

"Oh, dear, dear! That will never do," said Mrs. Barraclough, mastering
a powerful desire to kiss the microphone into which she spoke. "You
mustn't even imagine anything could go wrong. Now, what are you going
to do this afternoon?"

Sniff! "I donno--nuffin'," came over the wire moistly.

"Then I'll tell you. You'll go round to your dressmaker's and try on
your wedding dress and pretend you're walking down the aisle with your
hand on Tony's arm."

"I c-couldn't--b-but it's a l-lovely idea."

"Of course you could and you've got to. After all, it's what you'll be
doing in real earnest next Thursday."

Mrs. Barraclough could almost swear to having seen the smile that dried
up those tears that fell a hundred and fifty miles away.

"I'll t-try," said a tiny voice. "You are a d-darling." And later in
the afternoon the telephone bell rang again sad the same voice, with a
brave ring to it, announced "I've got it on."

After that Mrs. Barraclough was perfectly sure everything would be all
right and walked down to the village to enquire about the prospective
mother.

Shortly after she had gone Jane, who was entering the drawing room with
a silver tea tray, had a real