“Indeed it will,” said her sister, her eyes filling with tears as she looked into the loving eyes of the dear mother from whom she had been separated so long; “and perhaps it will do Carey good to look into his mother’s eyes when he comes home; who knows?” So they went down together to put the finishing touches to the supper and to talk of many things. Louise even got around to the play and the costume she was going to try to make; and Cornelia delighted her heart by saying she was sure she had just the very costume in her trunk, one that she wore in a college play herself, and she would help her make it over to fit. Everything was ready for supper at last, and it was time within three minutes for father’s car to arrive. Harry would likely meet him at the corner and come with him. Cornelia was taking up the pot-roast, and telling Louise about beating the mashed potatoes to make them lighter. The waffle-iron had been found under the piano-stool in the parlor, and was sizzling hot and well greased awaiting the fluffy batter. The hot maple syrup was on the table and everything exactly ready. Suddenly they heard a noisy automobile thunder up to the front of the house and pause, a clatter of voices, and the car thundered on again. Footsteps up the walk, and the front door banged open and shut; feet stamped up the stairs, while a faint breath of cigarette smoke trailed out and penetrated into the kitchen to mingle with the fragrance of the dinner. The two cooks stopped, and looked at each other understandingly. “He’s come,” said the eyes of the little sister. “We must make him very welcome,” answered the eyes of the big sister, so tired she could hardly hold her young shoulders straight. “Maybe he won’t stay,” whispered Louise softly a minute later. “Sometimes he doesn’t; he might have a date.” “Here’s hoping,” said Cornelia gayly, as she dabbed the batter into the irons for the first waffle. “You’ll have to contrive to catch him if he tries to go away, Lou.” “I wonder what he thinks of his room,” giggled the little sister. “I guess maybe he thought he’d made a mistake and got into the wrong house.” It was all very still upstairs. There were not even any footsteps going around, not for what seemed like several minutes; then slowly the footsteps came down the stairs again, hesitating, paused at the second flight, and came on until they reached the open dining-room door. Carey stood there gazing at the table as Louise came in bearing the dish of potatoes, and Cornelia followed her with the platter of meat, both earnestly intent and flushed with their work; and just at that moment, before the girls had looked up, the front door opened, and in came the father, with Harry whistling gayly behind him. “Oh, gee!” he cried, stopping his whistling. “Don’t that supper smell good? Here’s hoping there’s plenty of it.”