She made all her preparations on the day before, because, she told
herself, a doctor's time was so uncertain that he might, remembering
this, be afraid of being called away on The Day, and so come a day
sooner.

Pearl thought of all this as she stood at the window and looked out on
the bare farm yard, swept clean of beast or fowl by the bitter cold
which had driven them all indoors. A bright fire burned in the
Klondike heater, and from the kitchen came the cheerful song of a
canary. The house was in a state of great tidiness, with its home made
lounge in front of the fire, piled high with gaily flowered cushions,
and the brightly striped rag carpet which was the culmination of the
united efforts of the family the winter before, and before the fire a
tiger-striped cat with her paws stretched out to the heat.

Pearl was alone in the room, for all the children were at school, her
father and Teddy out, and her mother in the kitchen making the last of
the mincemeat into pies, which sent out a real baking odor of cinnamon
and cloves; a roast of pork that had been "doing too fast," was now
sitting on the top of the high oven, its angry, sparking, sizzling
trailing off into a throaty guttering. Some sound or smell of it
seemed to have penetrated Nap's dreams, for he wakened suddenly and
sat up, licking his lips and pounding the floor with his tail.

Suddenly the telephone rang, the three short and one long, which
indicated that it was the Watson family who were wanted. Pearl's heart
thrilled with expectation. Of course he would phone before he came to
make sure she was at home. The receiver was in her hands in a moment.