"It must be," said Marjory, who had a great deal of imagination. "Are the people happy?"
"Perfectly happy—rested, you know, Marjory. They are peaceful as you are when you are tucked up in your little bed."
"I like best to play and romp," said Marjory in a meditative voice; "but then, you see, I am never tired."
"Dorothy is standing at the door," exclaimed Phil. "Come in, Dorothy, and listen to mother's beautiful story."
"Do you want me?" asked Mrs. Staunton, standing up. She began to tremble—the children looked at her anxiously.
Dorothy went straight up and took her hand. "Dr. Staunton wishes to see you," she said. "Will you come with me?" She looked anxiously toward the door.
Mrs. Staunton put up her hand to her head. "Good-bye, my darlings," she said, looking at the little pair, who were gazing up at her with puzzled faces. "Go and play in the garden, and don't forget the White Garden about which we have been speaking." She stooped down and deliberately kissed both children, then she held out her hand to Dorothy. "I am quite ready," she said.
At that moment George entered the room. He put his arms round his mother. He was a big fellow—his arms were strong. The muscles in his neck seemed to start out, his eyes looked straight into his mother's.
"You have got me, mother; I am George," he said. "Come, let us go to my father together."
Mrs. Staunton tottered upstairs. She was not in the least surprised at seeing George, but she leaned very firmly on him. They went into the sickroom, and when George knelt down by his father's bedside, Mrs. Staunton knelt by him.