A cry broke from Mrs. Graham, Jim's mother, a welcoming cry of joy.
The old man rose to his feet, uncertainly holding out both his hands.
"My girl," he cried "I don't deserve it—but can you forgive me?"
And Annie Gray, who had suffered so bravely, so tearlessly, found her heart swept clean of resentment or bitter memory as she looked at him, for it was Jim's father, old, sad and broken, who called to her, and to Jim's father's arms she went with a glad cry.
"Dad!" she said, "Oh Dad! Little Jim and I are very tired of being orphans!"
And on the back veranda behind them, where she had been crouching with her ear to the paling, Rosie came out of hiding and burst out like a whole hallelujah chorus, and with the empty scrub pail in one hand, and the brush in the other, beat the cymbals as she sang:
"O that will be glory for me,
Glory for you and glory for me,
When by His grace I shall look on His face,
That will be glory for me!"
CHAPTER XXIV
HOME AGAIN
Quit your whistlin' Jimmy, and hold your whist—all of you—don't you know your poor sister is dead for sleep. Hasn't she been up hill and down dale this last six weeks. I never saw the like of it, and it's a God's mercy she ever lived through it—and then last night when she drove over from her school nothing would do your pa but she must talk half the night, when she should have been in bed. So now clear out you lads, and let's keep the house quiet, for Pearl is a light sleeper and always was."