The windows of the room were shaded by soft curtains of pale blue. A cheerful fire burned in the grate, and a child lay, half-sitting up, in a bed covered by a silken eider-down.
The child looked quite content in his little bed, and a trained nurse who was in the room went softly out by another door as Mrs. Anderson and the preacher entered.
"Hasn't Connie come back?" asked Ronald.
"No, dear," said Mrs. Anderson; "she's not able to do so just yet."
"I want her," said Ronald, suppressing a sigh.
"I have brought this gentleman to see you, Ronald."
"What?"
The boy cast a quick glance at the somewhat ungainly figure of Father John. Another disappointment—not the father he was waiting for. But the luminous eyes of the preacher seemed to pierce into the boy's soul. When he looked once, he looked again. When he looked twice, it seemed to him that he wanted to look forever.
"I am glad," he said; and a smile broke over his little face.
Father John sat down at once by the bedside, and Mrs. Anderson went softly out of the room.