I sat gazing stupidly at the sheet after I had
read it until Felix exclaimed,
"Bev, what's the matter with you? What's in that letter?"
"Father is coming home," I said dazedly. "He is to leave South
America in a fortnight and will be here in November to take us
back to Toronto."
Everybody gasped. Sara Ray, of course, began to cry, which
aggravated me unreasonably.
"Well," said Felix, when he got his second wind, "I'll be awful
glad to see father again, but I tell you I don't like the thought
of leaving here."
I felt exactly the same but, in view of Sara Ray's tears, admit it
I would not; so I sat in grum silence while the other tongues
wagged.
"If I were not going away myself I'd feel just terrible," said the
Story Girl. "Even as it is I'm real sorry. I'd like to be able
to think of you as all here together when I'm gone, having good
times and writing me about them."
"It'll be awfully dull when you fellows go," muttered Dan.
"I'm sure I don't know what we're ever going to do here this
winter," said Felicity, with the calmness of despair.
"Thank goodness there are no more fathers to come back," breathed
Cecily with a vicious earnestness that made us all laugh, even in
the midst of our dismay.
We worked very half-heartedly the rest of the day, and it was not
until we assembled in the orchard in the evening that our spirits
recovered something like their wonted level.
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