“Ah, yes, don’t I know how nice it is to be remembered by home friends when you’re far away!” Hetty put in quickly, as the low, tremulous tones faltered and fell, and Floy hastily drew out her handkerchief to wipe away the tears she could not keep back.
“I too,” said John, buttering his toast and taking a sip of tea; “a fellow gets awfully homesick sometimes at school, and a letter such as you, for instance, dash off once in a while, Het, does him a world of good.”
“News from home,” whispered Floy to herself, as she laid her weary head upon her pillow; “yes, from my Father’s house; a sweet message from my Elder Brother on the throne, reminding me anew that He cares for me; how strange that, knowing that, I can ever be sad and anxious!”
It was the last waking thought. But, alas! what a pang of remembrance came with the first moment of returning consciousness! One year ago how loved and cared for, to-day how lonely and forsaken!
Ah no, not that! “He careth for you,” sweetly whispered the Comforter to her aching heart, and she was comforted.
A few quiet tears dropped upon her pillow, but they were not all of sadness.
A faint rustling sound came from the bed on the other side of the room, then a whisper from Hetty.
“Merry Christmas, mothery! how are you this morning?”
“Oh, I’m splendid! I’m going to say everything’s splendid now. Merry Christmas to you too. I wish I had a million to give you.”
“A million of what, mothery?” laughed the girl.