Lily must have been thinking of him too, for she said: "I am glad you are going to stay, for then I can play you are my brother."
"I certainly shall be proud to be your brother," John answered gallantly.
That evening when the family gathered for prayers, Lily took her seat at the old piano. Then John realized why they called her "Queen," for never had he heard such a magnificent voice, so sweet, so soft, and so full of feeling. It seemed as though she carried them nearer Heaven with her song.
Before John retired he wrote to his mother, telling her of the home he had found, and of "The Queen of the Prairie." This rather amused Mrs. Davis, for hitherto, John had had little to say in praise of young ladies, although he was a favorite among them.
The summer passed merrily on, and John's vacation was drawing near its close, when one morning he received a telegram telling him that his mother was dangerously sick. The message filled him with anxious foreboding, and he quickly prepared to return home at once.
Tears were on Mrs. Long's cheeks as she helped him pack, for she had not realized before to what an extent John had taken her own boy's place in her heart. His own eyes were moist as he bade her farewell, promising to return as soon as possible.
Mr. Long was ready with a team to drive him to town, and Lily was standing beside her father. She raised a tear-stained face to him, and said: "Goodbye, dear brother, we shall miss you."
John was not ashamed of his own tears, for this little girl who called him "Brother," had grown dearer to him than all the world. He stooped and reverently kissed her snow white brow, then sprang in the buggy and was gone.
When John reached home, his father met him at the door. Mr. Davis' face was ghastly pale; he had grown old with grief.
John's eyes asked the question his lips could not frame.