On their arrival at Woodburn, the doctor came out to help them dismount, and with so cheerful a face that their hopes rose.
“How is papa? May we go to him?” they asked, eagerly.
“Doing very well; there’s not much amiss with him, I think, except the sprained ankle, and a brave, patient man, such as he, will not make much of that. Yes, you may go to him. If you behave well, as I have no doubt you will, your presence will be a comfort rather than an injury,” replied the doctor; then added, laughingly, “Odd as it may seem, he is certainly very fond of you all.”
Hardly waiting to hear the end of the sentence, they hastened to avail themselves of the permission.
The captain was in great pain, but lay with his eyes on the door, his ears attentive for the sound of childish footsteps; and as his three children appeared at the threshold, his face lighted up with a welcoming smile.
“Ah, my darlings, I am glad to see you,” he said; “come to me, all of you,” extending his hand, “I want a kiss and a loving word from each.”
They waited for no second invitation, but ran to him, put their arms about him, half-smothered him with caresses, and with mingled smiles and tears, poured out assurances of their ardent love and sympathy in his sufferings.
“Ah!” he said, noting the traces of tears on their cheeks and about their eyes, “it grieves me to see how your young hearts have been wrung on my account! Gracie, pet, you look worn out. Max, my son, help her up-stairs to her room, and she must lie down and rest till dinner time.
“Lulu, daughter, you may go along, change your riding-habit for a house-dress, and when you have seen Gracie comfortably established in her bed, come back and be papa’s little nurse.
“Max, when Gracie needs you no longer, come and report to me about the errand I trusted to you.”