"Where did Celia put the--"

"Listen, all of you. I--"

"What did Jeff do with that small white--"

"_Silence!_" shouted Lansing, above the din. "Can't you people get these
traps together without all yelling at once? You will have mother so used
up she can't start."

Mrs. Birch smiled at her tall son from the easy chair where she had been
placed ten minutes before, her family protesting that they could finish
the numberless small tasks yet to be done. It was nine o'clock in the
evening, and it lacked but an hour of train-time.

They all looked at the slender figure in the easy chair. They had
learned in these last two weeks to take note of their mother's
appearance as, with easy confidence in her exhaustless strength, they
had never done before. Since the night when they had learned that she
was not quite well, they had discovered for themselves the delicacy of
the smiling face, the thinness of the graceful body, the many small
signs by which those who run may read the evidences of lessened
vitality, if their eyes are once opened. They wondered that they had not
seen it all before, and found the only explanation in the cheery,
undaunted spirit which had covered up every sign of fatigue.

"She is too tired already," declared Celia. "Run away, and let father
and me finish."