“I expect they will—­near eleven.”

“Oh, well—­I can wait.”  Sally drew a long breath.  “I’ve waited months—­I can stand it a few hours longer.”

“It’s a shame.”  Joanna picked up the bag and umbrella and led the way into the hall.  “The Burnsides are coming the day after to-morrow.”  She pointed toward the open door into the west wing, the hall light shining in a short distance among the shadows and showing a room in order.  “It’s awful too bad they didn’t get here to-day.”

“Never mind—­it’s a great deal just to be at home again.  How pleasant it all looks—­and how fresh!”

Joanna led on into the long living-room where a light fire blazed on the hearth.  “It’s as fresh as I could make it,” she admitted, “but there’s some ways it can be made fresher that you’ll see right away.  Them red pillows—­”

Evidently the pillows had been on Joanna’s mind ever since she had been put in charge of them upon Sally’s departure.  Sally gave them one glance and burst into appreciative laughter.

“Pillow-fights, Joanna—­and being sat on around the fire, and used for acrobatic performances—­yes, I see.  I’ll re-cover them right away.  I’d do it to-night while I wait if I had the stuff—­if I could sit still long enough.  I want to go all over the house—­and if it wasn’t raining I’d go out in the garden and through the pine grove and over into the orchard.  Oh, here’s a new picture of Alec, on the chimney-piece—­why didn’t he send it to me?”

“I could go over and let the Ferry people know you’re here,” suggested Joanna, watching Sally eye the small snap-shot likeness hungrily, so that it seemed a matter of charity to present some human creature to her gaze.

“No, no, thank you—­I’d rather see my own family first.  I can wait.  I’ll go up and get off these travelling things and unpack my bag—­that will take up a little time,” and Sally prepared to put her suggestion into action.

“Just let me go up first, Miss Sally,” urged Joanna.  “Not expecting you so soon the room’s no linen in it—­it won’t look like home to you.  I won’t be ten minutes.  It’s too bad—­Miss Josephine was going to have the house all trimmed up with flowers for you.”

Seeing that to refuse to allow this would disappoint Joanna, Sally submitted and went out to the open front door again, to stand looking off into the wet night where a row of distant lights glimmering vaguely through the mist outlined the course of the trolley connecting Wybury with the city.

“Anyhow, I’m at home,” she consoled herself.  “I might be content with that, for an hour or two, but it does seem as if I could never wait.  If I could only see my garden—­”