The school term ended on a Saturday morning in mid-December.

Mary's trunk was packed and ready, and she and it reached the South Station long before train time.

She was going home, home for the holidays, and if she had been going on a trip around the world she could not have been more delighted at the prospect.

And her delight and anticipations were shared in South Harniss.

Her uncles' letters for the past fortnight had contained little except joyful announcements of preparations for her coming.
We are counting the minutes [wrote Zoeth].