“Yes, it is Aunt Janet,” said Mrs Blair, clasping her in her arms; “if indeed this can be the little Lily I used to like so well to see at Glen Elder. You are taller than my little lassie was,” she added, bending back the fair little face and kissing it fondly. “But this is my wee Lily’s face; I should know it anywhere.”
“Oh, Aunt Janet,” cried the child, bursting into tears; “I am so glad you are come! We have needed you so much!”
Mrs Blair sat down on the bed, still holding the child in her arms. Poor Lilias! Tears must have been long kept back, her aunt thought, for she seemed to have no power to check her sobs, now that they had found way. Half chiding, half soothing her with tender words, she held her firmly till she grew calm again.
In a little while the weary child raised herself up, and said:
“Don’t be vexed with me, Aunt Janet. I don’t often cry like that; but I am so glad you have come. We have needed you sorely; and I was sure you would come, if you only knew.”
Mrs Blair would not grieve her by telling her how little she could do for them now that she had come; but she still held her in her arms, as she bent down to kiss the little lad, who was gazing, half in wonder, half in fear, at the sight of his sister’s tears; and as she got a better view of his thin pale face, she resolved that, if it were possible, he at least should be removed from the close, unhealthy atmosphere of his present home.
“You must be weary, aunt,” said Lilias, at last, withdrawing herself from her arms, and untying the strings of her bonnet, which had not yet been removed. “Come and rest here in the armchair till mother comes home. Oh, she will be so glad!”
Mrs Blair suffered herself to be led to the chair which had been her mother’s; and, as she rested in it, she watched with much interest the movements of the little girl. In a few minutes there was a fire on the hearth, and warm water prepared, and then, kneeling down, she bathed the hands and face and weary feet of her aunt. Mrs Blair felt a strange sweet pleasure in thus being waited on by the child. Many months had passed since she had looked on one united to her by the ties of blood; and now her heart was full as she gazed on the children of her brother. There was something inexpressibly grateful to her in the look of content that was coming into the grave, wistful eyes of the little lad, and in the caressing touch of Lily’s hand. In the interest with which she watched the little girl as she went about intent on household cares, she well-nigh forgot her own weariness and her many causes of anxiety. There was something so womanly, yet so childish, in her quiet ways, something so winning in the grave smile that now and then played about her mouth, that her aunt was quite beguiled from her sad thoughts. In a little while Lily went to the door, and listened for her mother’s returning footsteps.
“I wonder what can be keeping her so late?” she said, as she returned. “This is not a busy time, and she said that she would be early home. Sometimes she is very late on Saturday night.”
Once more she went to the head of the stairs to listen; and then, returning, she sat herself on a stool at her aunt’s feet.