“I waited so long,” she said, “and watched from morning till dark, but he never came again, only the letter which broke my heart. Willie was a wee baby then, and I almost hated him for awhile, but he wasn’t to blame. I wasn’t to blame. Our Father in Heaven knew I wasn’t and after I went to him and told him all about it, and asked him to care for Adah, the first terrible pain was over and love for Willie came back with a hope that the letter might be false. I’m glad God gave me Willie now, even if he did take his father from me.”
Mrs. Worthington and her daughter exchanged curious glances of wonder, and the latter abruptly asked,
“Where is Willie’s father?”
“I don’t know,” came in a wailing sob from the depths of the pillow where the face for a moment hid itself from view.
“Where did you come from?” was the next question, put in a tone so cold and harsh that the young girl looked up in some alarm, and answered meekly,
“From New York, ma’am. It’s a great ways off, and I thought I’d never get here, but every body was so kind to me and Willie, and the driver said if ’twan’t so late, and he so many passengers, he’d drive across the fields. He pointed out the way and I came on alone. I saw the light off on the hill and tried to hurry, but the snow blinded me so bad and Willie was so heavy, that I fell down by the gate, and guess I went to sleep, for I remember dreaming that the angels were watching over me, and covering Willie with the snow to keep him warm.”
The color had faded now from Mrs. Worthington’s face, for a terrible suspicion of she scarcely knew what had darted across her mind, and very timidly she asked again,
“Whom did you hope to find?”
“Mr. Worthington. Does he live here?” was the frank reply; whereupon ’Lina, with crimsoning cheek, drew herself up haughtily, exclaiming,
“I knew it. I’ve thought so ever since Hugh came home from New York.”