'
'That is very naughty in him, and I will see that he behaves better in
future,' said Mrs. Tracy, rather amused than other wise at the boy's
frankness.
As the mention of the uncle reminded Harold of the telegram, he took it
from his pocket and handed it to her.
'Mr. Tracy said I was to bring you this. It's from Mr. Arthur, and he's
coming to-night. I'm so glad, and grandma will be, too!'
If Mrs. Tracy heard the last of Harold's speech she did not heed it, for
she had caught the words that Arthur was coming that night, and, for a
moment, she felt giddy and faint, and her hand shook so she could
scarcely open the telegram.
Arthur had been gone so long and left them in undisputed possession of
the park, that she had come to feel as if it belonged to them by right,
and she had grown so into a life of ease and luxury, that to give it up
now and go back to Langley seemed impossible to her. She could see it
all so plainly--the old life of obscurity and toil in the little kitchen
where she had eaten her breakfast on winter mornings so near the stove
that she could cook her buckwheats on the griddle and transfer them to
her own and her husband's plates without leaving her seat. She had been
happy, or comparatively so there, she said to herself, because she knew
no better.
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