Very busy and very happy.
The strawberry-bed, where John found Lily, was at the far end of the garden. She was very busy and very happy, having forgotten all about the "poor man" in church in the joyful surprise of finding more ripe strawberries than any one had expected. There was already a red and bright little heap in her basket; she had thrown off her hat, and her curly hair was shining in the sun, which had also tinted her cheeks with pretty colour.
"O John, such a lot!" she called out, as he walked slowly up the grass path between the currant bushes. "Is it dinner-time so soon, John? You must come and help me finish."
"No, you must come in now. I'm tired, I've got a stiff back, I can't stoop like you, little one," said John. "Look here, I'll sit on the bank while you get six more. That'll be enough for to-day."
"That'll leave a lot for the birds—but you like them to have some, doesn't you? Why has you got a stiff back, John dear? You's getting old."
"Ay, very old," he said, and he sat there for a minute and watched her.
He was selfish, perhaps, in not thinking enough of the man who was waiting so anxiously at the house door, a little uncertain whether this was really the recovery of his lost child. If John had seen any uncertainty in the matter, he would have led the child to her supposed father quickly enough. But Colonel Maxwell's face, the eyes, with their look of Lily, the whole expression so like hers, had been quite enough for him. As soon as he had had a good look at Colonel Maxwell he had known, without the shadow of a doubt, that Lily's father stood before him. And this father of hers—she would belong to him all his life—so surely, John thought—or felt, for he did not reason about it—surely he ought not to grudge these few last minutes to somebody who would have given his life for her cheerfully at any time within the last four years.
"Come along, Lily," he said, a little gruffly. "You've had time to pick a dozen. There, little one, give me the basket, and you shall have a ride on my shoulder once more. Once round the path, and then back home. Tired of your old horse, ain't you?"
"No, never, never!" cried the child with a little scream of delight, as he ran round the strawberry-bed, the little hand with its pink fingers firmly grasping his hair.
"Let me ride all the way home, dear John, please."