The antique hall clock blinked like an old man at the dancing flames in the great fire-place and slowly sounded eight o’clock. Almost at once there came the merry jingle of sleigh bells, then a few shrill shrieks, a ring, and then a fierce stamping of small feet on the veranda.
Almost before John’s dignity could carry him to the hall door, Miss Maud Grantham ran swiftly down the stairs, followed, partly on the stairs, but mainly on the bannisters, by little Bobbie Grantham. Four rosy and very pretty faces came in with the snow gust at the door; there was much embracing and such a chattering, Maud failed to get a word in edgeways, and so resorted to the exorcism of holding aloft the yellow sheet of paper she held in her hand so that every eye could see it. The effect was instantaneous: a hush fell on the quartet at the sight of that dreadful messenger—a telegram.
“Now don’t be afraid, girls! It’s nothing very terrible,” and she handed the sheet to Sadie Stillwell, who read aloud:
“To C. V. Grantham, Yonkers, N. Y.—Train stalled. Don’t expect us till morning.
If the girls looked relieved for a moment they certainly showed regret the next, especially Minnie Trumbull; but she said nothing. Ella Bromley, on the contrary, exclaimed in great vexation:
“What a shame! For two whole days I’ve been promising myself _such_ a time teasing that scamp Dick almost to death. I think it’s too bad.”
“Never mind,” replied Sadie; “you will have four days in which to work out your horrible purpose. Why, is not slow torture better than killing him off in one night?”
“Why, girls! How can you stand there joking,” spoke up Grace Waldron, “while those poor boys are slowly freezing to death in the middle of a snow bank?”
“Nonsense!” replied Maud. “Where there’s a telegraph office there must be a station and a stove. It is too bad, indeed, that Wes and Dick must miss the little surprise party. But come along! I’ve done everything to help out for a jolly time. There’s the supper—I’ve had that all fixed, and I’ve told John we wouldn’t want him, so he’s gone off to bed, I suppose. Then mamma and papa have gone to the Bruces’ _musicale_, so there isn’t a soul in the house to disturb. Isn’t that just delightful?”