Just to calm herself she went and opened the slide of the range and shoved the tea-kettle a little farther on so it would begin to boil, before she opened that fat letter.  She lit the lamp, too, put it on the supper-table, and changed the position of the bread-plate, covering it nicely with a fringed napkin so the bread wouldn’t get dry.  Everything must be ready when Father got back.  Then she went and sat down with her gold spectacles and tore open that envelope.

She was so absorbed in the letter that she failed for the first time since they got the car to hear its pleasant purr as it came down the road, and the big head-lights sent their rays out cheerfully without any one at the kitchen window to see.  Father was getting worried that the kitchen door didn’t fly open as he drew in beside the big flag-stone, when Mother suddenly came flying out with her face all smiles and eagerness.  He hadn’t seen her look that way since Stephen went away.

She had left a trail of letter all the way from her big chair to the door, and she held the envelope in her hand.  She rushed out and buried her face in his rough coat-collar: 

“Oh, Father!  I’ve been so worried about you!” she declared, joyfully, but she didn’t look worried a bit.

Father looked down at her tenderly and patted her plump shoulder.  “Had a flat tire and had to stop, and get her pumped up,” he explained, “and then the man found a place wanted patching.  He took a little longer than I expected.  I was afraid you would worry.”

“Well, hurry in,” she said, eagerly.  “Supper’s all ready and I’ve got a letter to read to you.”

It went without saying that if Mother liked a thing in that home Father would, too.  His sun rose and set in Mother, and they had lived together so long and harmoniously that the thoughts of one were the reflection of the other.  It didn’t matter which, you asked about a thing, you were sure to get the same opinion as if you had asked the other.  It wasn’t that one gave way to the other; it was just that they had the same habits of thought and decision, the same principles to go by.  So when, after she had passed the hot johnny-cake, seen to it that Father had the biggest pork chop and the mealiest potato, and given him his cup of coffee creamed and sugared just right, Mother got out the letter with the university crest and began to read.  She had no fears that Father would not agree with her about it.  She read eagerly, sure of his sympathy in her pleasure; sure he would think it was nice of Stephen’s friend to write to her and pick her out as a real mother, saying all those pleasant things about her; sure he would be proud that she, with all the women they had in the East, should have so brought up a boy that a stranger knew she was a real mother.  She had no fear that Father would frown and declare they couldn’t be bothered with a stranger around, that it would cost a lot and Mother needed to rest.  She knew he would be touched at once with the poor, lonely girl’s position, and want to do anything in his power to help her.  She knew he would be ready to fall right in with anything she should suggest.  And, true to her conviction, Father’s eyes lighted with tenderness as she read, watched her proudly and nodded in strong affirmation at the phrases touching her ability as mother.