"Yes, I hope so," replied the artist, smiling.
Lilian drew a long-sigh of contentment.
"I do wish it were to-morrow! Will you take them out in the boat, papa?"
"Raymond will not be well enough at first; but by-and-by, I hope, we shall have some grand excursions."
"And that dear little Madge that you have told me about; oh, papa, I shall love her so much! Do you think she will love me?"
The fond father thought within himself that it would not be very easy for her to help doing so; but he only answered, "I think she will, Lily."
And thus they talked in the pleasant evening light, until the red sun had dipped down behind the hills on the further coast; and then Mr. Smith moored the boat, and the father and daughter walked home in the red glow which the sun had left behind it.
The rest of the evening passed away very slowly to Lilian, she was looking forward so eagerly to the morrow; and it was not until she had planned and replanned every kind of pleasure that was likely to be given to her, during the visit of her friends, and wondered over and over again what they would be like that sleep came over her; and before she knew anything more, the much longed-for morning had arrived.
Mr. Smith had gone to meet the children at their landing-place; and about two o'clock Lilian heard the sound of the carriage-wheels coming near. Then a fit of shyness came over her; and she hung back, so that it was not until she heard her father's voice calling her that she went to the door, just in time to see him helping out of the carriage a tall, delicate-looking boy of about sixteen, followed by a quiet-looking little girl of twelve.
"Here are your new friends, Lily; come and speak to them," said Mr. Smith.