And when he came in?

Oh, she had all day Sunday in which to forecast, with mingled dread and
gladness and suspense, that all-important, all-decisive first moment! All day
Sunday to frame and unframe penitent speeches. All day Sunday! Would it ever
be Monday? If so, what would Tuesday bring? Would the sun rise happy on Mrs.
Stephen Waterman of Pleasant River, or miserable Miss Rose Wiley of the Brier
Neighborhood?




XV

The Dream Room


Long ago, when Stephen was a boy of fourteen or fifteen, he had gone with his
father to a distant town to spend the night. After an early breakfast next
morning his father had driven off for a business interview, and left the boy
to walk about during his absence. He wandered aimlessly along a quiet side
street, and threw himself down on the grass outside a pretty garden to amuse
himself as best he could.

After a few minutes he heard voices, and, turning, peeped through the bars of
the gate in idle, boyish curiosity. It was a small brown house; the kitchen
door was open, and a table spread with a white cloth was set in the middle of
the room. There was a cradle in a far corner, and a man was seated at the
table as though he might be waiting for his breakfast.