She seemed the central figure of the group, all eyes turning ever and
anon, upon her in tenderest solicitude, every ear attentive to her
slightest plaint, every hand ready to minister to her wants.
She was very quiet, very patient, answering their anxious, questioning
words and looks with many a sweet, affectionate smile or whisper of
grateful appreciation of their ministry of love.
Sometimes she would beg to be lifted up for a moment that she might see
the rising or setting sun, or gaze upon the autumnal glories of the woods,
and as they drew near their journey's end she would ask, "Are we almost
there, papa? shall I soon see my own sweet home, and dear brothers and
sisters?"
At last the answer was, "Yes, my darling; in a few moments we shall leave
the car for our own easy carriage, and one short stage will take us home
to Ion."
Mr. Dinsmore, his son, and Arthur Conly met them at the station, and told
how longingly their dear ones at home were looking for them.
The sun had set, and shadows began to creep over the landscape as the
carriage stopped before the door and Lily was lifted out, borne into the
house and gently laid upon her own little bed.
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