The child eats ravenously. It is evident some considerable time elapsed between that unbidden ride and queer "find."
After a big meal, little Bessie climbs upon Sir Donald's lap and is soon asleep. This pretty picture greets Esther and Charles on their return from a lake stroll.
Esther's sympathies are aroused. She arranges the softest kind of a cot in her own room. The downy spreads seem too heavy. Looking at the portrait of Sister Edith, Esther's eyes glow with a peculiar light.
Having gently washed dirt-stains from the little hands, face, and feet, Esther leads the way to where Sir Donald reluctantly deposits his new ward.
A load lifts from his heart. Temporary specific is found for that persistent heartsickness. The remedy seems so natural. Recent Paris and Calcutta retrospect chides his dullness of perception. He now fears "Granny" may veto the treatment.
Esther does not sleep well. She makes too many inspections of that cot. The stone-bruises on Bessie's feet may prove fatal! What can cure the sun-browned face and hands? Suppose the child should roll off on the floor!
Two delicately embroidered handkerchiefs, saturated with healing lotion, she bandages around those bruised soles. Tanned face and hands are treated with other soothing liquid that does no harm. Chairs are placed at sides and ends of the cot. Bessie is "bottled" in "effective blockade" of cushioned upholstery.
A strange noise is heard. Intently watching the little sleeper, Esther locates this vocal mystery. She fears Bessie's throat and lungs are affected.
The spreads do not fit. A strange impulse comes. It dilates her vision. She trembles a little.
Looking through the open door, Esther sees the smiling portraits of her mother and Edith. Both profiles approve her caprice. She softly steps to a curtained alcove. There, in mahogany and curved-glass wardrobe, are relics of sister Edith.