As she stood, breathless with wonderment and rapture, the door behind her was gently opened, and Captain and Mrs. Sinclair stole softly into the room—so softly that Celia heard no sound.
The tall, soldierly man, bronzed by the hot sun of the East, smiled as his glance fell tenderly upon the quaint figure of Coppertop, standing there in her pyjamas, her hands clasped in ecstacy over the tiny bronze camel, and seeming to be part of the glowing sunshine which filled the room.
“What IS she looking for?” he whispered to his wife.
“Hush, dear!” warned Mrs. Sinclair, with finger on lip. But it was too late.
Coppertop had heard the whispering voices!
She turned, and stood for one moment too overjoyed to move. Then, uttering the very highest little scream of delight she had ever uttered, she bounded towards them.
Trembling with excitement, she flung a freckled arm round each dear neck, and, pulling their laughing faces down to hers, she covered them with kisses.
“What a perfect December day to welcome us on!” said Captain Sinclair, as soon as he had sufficiently recovered from Coppertop’s embrace to speak.
“Perfect!” echoed his wife, smiling down at their little daughter.
And Coppertop’s cup of happiness was full.