Nothing whispers of either the joy or the grief. No instinct bids
us to delay or to hasten the opening of the letter or telegram, or the
lifting of the latch of the door at which stands the messenger of good
or ill. And because it may be, and often is, happy tidings that come,
and joyful things which happen, each fresh day as it dawns upon us is
like an unread story, full of possible interest and adventure, to be
made ours as soon as we have cut the pages and begun to read.
Nothing whispered to Katy Carr, as she sat at the window mending a long
rent in Johnnie's school coat, and saw Mrs. Ashe come in at the side
gate and ring the office bell, that the visit had any special
significance for her. Mrs. Ashe often did come to the office to consult
Dr. Carr. Amy might not be quite well, Katy thought, or there might be a
letter with something about Walter in it, or perhaps matters had gone
wrong at the house, where paperers and painters were still at work. So
she went calmly on with her darning, drawing the "ravelling," with which
her needle was threaded, carefully in and out, and taking nice even
stitches without one prophetic thrill or tremor; while, if only she
could have looked through the two walls and two doors which separated
the room in which she sat from the office, and have heard what Mrs. Ashe
was saying, the school coat would have been thrown to the winds, and for
all her tall stature and propriety, she would have been skipping with
delight and astonishment.
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