'Of course it was the only son.

These small families are too awful.

Every married woman ought to have six sons!' Nelly dropped her face out of sight, shading it with her hands.
Presently she said, in a dreamy voice of content-- 'I shall get a letter to-morrow.' 'How do you know ?' Nelly held out the telegram, which said-- 'All safe.

Posted letter last night.

Love.' 'It _can't_ take more than forty-eight hours to come--can it ?' Then she lifted her eyes again to the distant farm, with its white front and its dark patch of yews.
'I keep thinking of _their_ telegram--' she said, slowly--'and then of mine.