“Nine months.”
“Was there any distinguishing mark about her?”
“We hope so. The baby had put her arm in some tea and my wife tied her handkerchief around the little arm to keep the wet sleeve from touching it. The handkerchief had the initials L.O.I.S. in the corner.” The doctor and Mr. Douglas rose simultaneously.
“I believe your quest is at an end. The child is here, in my house, has been for a long time.”
“My child, here! How good God is!” Mr. Stanley’s face was radiant.
Questions and explanations followed, then Mr. Douglas took him to the nursery, but counseled as little excitement as possible, as Lois had had a most trying day.
Surrounded by everything that love could provide, Lois slept in Jeanie’s arms, her dark head pillowed against Jeanie’s cheek.
“So this is our baby,” he murmured as he stood looking through a mist of tears upon the beautiful little face. Then stooping down, he gathered the sleeping child in his arms, holding her close in one long, clinging embrace.
Brokenly he expressed his gratitude and hurried away on his mission of love.
At midnight, Timothy in the tower looked out over a world glistening in the moonlight.