“Time enough yet,” said the mother, smiling; “he is only twenty-eight. There! I hear the rattle of the wheels.” Both sprang up and hurried to the outer door, each heart beating high with delighted expectation.
They were just in time to see Mr. Heywood alight from the vehicle, which had already drawn up before the entrance.
“My dear,” he said, hurrying up the steps into the portico, “don’t be alarmed. I have not brought our boy, but he’s safe and well; sent me a telegram to say he’d missed the train, and will be here to-morrow, God willing.”
“Well,” she said, with a sigh, “it’s a sore disappointment, but I’m thankful it’s no worse. You’ve had a hard ride, and—”
“Have brought an unexpected guest with me,” he interrupted hastily. “Mary, dear, remembering the Master’s words, ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these, ye have done it unto me,’ you’ll not object to taking her in, for she may be one of His.”
“Who, Joseph?” she asked in a startled tone.
“A poor, forsaken, dying creature, Mary; I’ve not been able to learn her name.” And he hurried to the assistance of Mike, who had fastened his horses and was preparing to lift the woman from the wagon.
Taking each an end of the buffalo-robe on which she lay, they carried her in between them and laid her gently down before the sitting-room fire.
Mrs. Heywood had hastened to order a room and bed made ready, and now, returning with such restoratives as were at hand, knelt by the side of the sufferer to apply them.