Mrs. Carter’s mind dwelt upon this with a feeling of maternal pride, still tempered with anxiety, when she became aware that Emily and Leigh were quarreling openly because of the latter’s unfeeling remark that a girl with a snub nose and freckles should never do her hair in a Greek knot. “It’s enough to make a cat laugh,” said Leigh. “What have you got to balance that knob on the back of your head?” “Leigh, dear, don’t plague sister so,” Mrs. Carter remonstrated mildly. “As if a boy like Leigh knew anything about a girl’s hair!” cried Emily indignantly. “It’s a psyche-knot.” Leigh laughed derisively; but at this moment, when the quarrel had become noisy enough to disturb Mr. Carter, it was interrupted by the entrance of the morning mail. Miranda, the colored maid of all work, appeared with a replenished coffee-pot and a letter for Mrs. Carter. The anxious mother gave a cry of joy. “My goodness--it’s from Willie!” The interest became general, and five pairs of expectant eyes focussed on Mrs. Carter as she opened the envelope, her fingers shaking with eagerness. Miranda, to whom the fifth pair of eyes belonged, became unusually attentive to Daniel, and insisted on replenishing his coffee-cup. “This was written in Paris,” Mrs. Carter exclaimed eagerly, “and--and posted in New York! I wonder! ‘Dear mother,’” she began reading aloud, her voice tremulous with joy, “‘I’m coming home on the _Britannic_, and I’m bringing you the--the----’” She stopped short, her mouth open like a fish’s, and a look of horror glazing the rapture in her eyes. There was a profound and expectant pause. Daniel, the least interested member of the group, managed to drink his hot coffee with apparent relish, and sixteen-year-old Emily ate a biscuit, but Mr. Carter, who had laid down his newspaper to listen, became impatient. “What’s the matter, mama?” he asked peevishly. “You look scared. Is William going to bring you a crocodile from the Nile?” Mrs. Carter rallied. “N-no, not exactly--that is----” She looked absently at the maid. “Miranda, go down to the ice-box and look it through. Let me know just what’s left over. I’ve got to ’phone to the market immediately.” “Yes’m.” Miranda, descrying a sensation from afar, retired reluctantly. She couldn’t hear quite as well in the kitchen entry when all the windows were open. Mrs. Carter waited until the pantry door closed behind the maid; then she turned her horrified eyes upon her family. “William’s married!” she gasped. “Married?” echoed Mr. Carter angrily. “You’re crazy! William’s got too much sense. You haven’t read it straight. Give me that letter!” He stretched out a fiercely impatient hand, but Mrs. Carter ignored his order. “Listen! I did read it right. I know my own boy’s writing. I’ll read it aloud--listen!” Mr. Carter thumped the table. “Why in thunder don’t you read it, then? We’re listening! Of all the crazy notions! Married--you’ll find it’s ‘meandered.’ Go ahead!”