Molly awoke early on the following morning, and early informed the rest of the household that the weather was satisfactory.

She flew into Ruth's room with the hot water, to wake her and set her mind at rest on a subject of such engrossing interest; she imparted it repeatedly to Charles through his key-hole, until a low incoherent muttering convinced her that he also was rejoicing in the good news.

She took all the dolls out of the baskets in which Ruth's careful hands had packed them the evening before, in the recognized manner in which dolls travel without detriment to their toilets, namely, head downward, with their orange-top-boots turned upward to the sky.

In short, Molly busied herself in the usual ways in which an only child finds employment.
It really was a glorious day.

Except in Molly's eyes it was almost too good a day for a school-feast; too good a day, Ruth thought, as she looked out, to be spent entirely in playing at endless games of "Sally Water" and "Oranges and Lemons," and in pouring out sweet tea in a tent.
She remembered a certain sketch at Arleigh, an old deserted house in the neighborhood, which she had long wished to make.