At the same moment Mrs. Field put her head in
at the dining-room door. "Land, I do hope it ain't a telegram!" she
observed, in a loud whisper.
It was not a telegram. It was a pale-faced little woman in black, with
two children, a boy and a girl, beside her. Celia looked at them
questioningly.
"This is Doctor Churchill's, isn't it?" asked the stranger, with a
hesitating foot upon the threshold. "Is he at home?"
"He is expected home--he will be in his office to-morrow," Celia
answered, thinking this a new patient, and feeling justified in keeping
Doctor Churchill's first evening clear for him if she could. But the
visitor drew a sigh of relief, and came over the threshold, drawing her
children with her. Celia gave way, but the question in her face brought
the explanation:
"I reckon it's all right, if he's coming so soon. I'm his cousin, Mrs.
Peyton. These are my children. I haven't seen Andrew since he was a boy
at college, but he'll remember me. Are you--" She hesitated.
Mrs. Birch came forward. "We are the mother and sister of Mrs.
Churchill," she said, and offered her hand.
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