But
I should think she would have written."
"Why, mamma," said Bumble, "there was a letter came for you from
Philadelphia a day or two ago. Didn't you get it? I saw it on the hall
table."
"No, I didn't get it. Run and look for it, child."
But the letter couldn't be found. So Mrs. Barlow assumed that it was from
her friend, Miss Todd, and concluded that that lady would shortly arrive.
"Where _can_ we put her to sleep?" she queried, "every room is already
filled."
"She can have my room," said Bob, "and Harry Carleton and I will sleep out
in the tent. He's a good fellow and he won't mind."
"But his mother will," said Mrs. Barlow; "she's so fussy about such things.
Still, I can't see anything else to do. If it doesn't rain, I suppose
you'll be all right."
The Carletons came first, and Mrs. Barlow welcomed them with a gracious
hospitality which gave no hint of the flurried turmoil of preparation that
had been going on all day.
Gertrude Carleton, the eldest daughter, was one of those spick-and-span
beings who look as if they ought always to be kept in a bandbox.
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