Lucy met him in the hall with a cry of delight.

"You've come," she whispered as he pressed her close. "Oh, I thought you never would."

"My dear, why did you not say? Why did you let me leave you at all?"

"I didn't want you to miss anything on my account--but never mind that now--come in. Papa and uncle will be glad to see you. Do you know," she added with evident pleasure, "papa has been _nearly_ as anxious about you as I have,--has continually asked me about you,--and I had to let him read your lovely long letter."

"You did? Well, it's all right. There's no harm done, I'm sure. He might as well know everything."

"Oh, he knows a lot already."

They went into the house, and found seats until the others should appear.

"Your face shows signs of suffering, Lucy; but otherwise you look quite well."

"That's just it with my trouble. I usually deceive my looks; but I feel better already; and now, let me tell you something else: Father has nearly consented to my being baptized!"

"Lucy!"

"It's true. I've been pleading with him--and preaching to him too; and the other day he said he would think about it. That's a concession, for he has always said _he would not_ think of such a thing."

"I'm so glad so very, very glad, Lucy."

"And Chester, I believe it's you who have made the change in him. He's been so different since you have been with us. He hasn't been so angry with me when I talked of 'Mormonism.' He has let me read my books without any remonstrance. And do you know, even Uncle Gilbert is affected. He and papa must have had some profound discussions about us and our religion for he has asked me to lend him some books. He'll no doubt want to know from your all about Utah and the people out there."

"And I shall be pleased to tell him," said Chester.

The father stood as if hesitating, in the doorway.

"Come in, papa," said Lucy. "Chester's come."

"Yes; I see he has," replied the father as he came to greet the young man, and shake his hand warmly.

"I'm glad, with Lucy to see you with us again."

"And I am glad to be with you," said Chester honestly.

The morning was spent together. The beginnings of a London fog kept them in doors, which was no hardship, as the three seemed to have so much to talk about. After lunch, the fog changed its intentions, lifted, disappeared and let the sun have full sway. To be sure, some smoke still lingered, but out where the Strongs were staying it only mellowed the distances.

That afternoon it occured to Chester that the relationship now existing between him and Lucy called for a further understanding with the father.

He knew, of course, that the father's attitude toward him had changed; Lucy's words and the father's actions justified him in the thought.

Chester managed to accompany the father in his stroll in the park that afternoon, and without delay, he broached the subject so near his heart.

The minister listened quietly to the young man plead his case, not interrupting until he had finished. They seated themselves on a bench by the grass. The father looked down at the figures he was drawing with his cane on the ground and mused for a moment. Then he said:

"Yes; I have given my consent, by my actions, at least. I have no objection to you. I like you very much. Lucy does too, and fathers can't very well stop such things. But there still remains the fact that Lucy is not well. There is no telling how long she can live, and yet I have heard of cases like hers where marriage has been a great benefit."

"I thank you for your kind words," said Chester. "Let me assure you I shall be controlled by your judgement as to marriage. We are neither of us ready for that. Of course, I sincerely hope she will get stronger. I think she will; but meantime you have no objection to my loving her, and doing all for her that my love can do?"

"Certainly not, my boy, certainly not." The father placed his hand on the young man's shoulder as he said it. Chester noted the faint tremor in voice and hand, and his heart went out to him.

"You are a comfort and a strength to Lucy--and to me," continued Mr.

Strong. "We miss you very much when you are away. Can't you stay with us right along. Perhaps that's not fair to ask--your home and friends--"

"I have no home, my dear sir; and my friends, are few. I told you, did I not, my history?"

"Yes, you told me, I remember."

"And remembering, you think no less of me."

"Not a bit--rather more."

"Let me serve you then, you and Lucy. If you need me, I equally need you. Let me give what little there is in me to somebody that wants me.

My life, so far, has been full of change and somewhat purposeless. I have drifted about the world. Let me now anchor with you. I feel as though I ought to do that--"

The man clung closer to Chester, who, feeling a thrill of dear companionship, continued:

"Let me be a son to you always, and a sister to Lucy, until it can be something more."

"Yes, yes, my boy!"

Others were out basking in the warm sun that afternoon. Those that walked leisurely and took notice of events about them, were impressed by the affectionate behavior of the two men. Lucy Strong was herself out.

She was curious to know what had become of Chester and her father, besides, the sun was inviting. She soon found them, herself undiscovered. She paused, examined the flower beds, and became interested in the swans in the lake. Her face beamed with happiness when she saw them, for their shoulders were close together and Chester had her father's hands clasped firmly in his own. She tiptoed up behind them on the grass, then slipped her hands over each of their eyes.

"Guess," she laughed.

"A fairy princess," said Chester.

"Mother Goose," responded the father.

They moved apart and let her sit between them.

"The rose between," suggested Chester.

"The tie that binds," corrected the girl, placing an arm about each of them.

Then they all laughed so merrily, that the infection reached a ragged urchin playing on the gravel-path near by.

"My dear," said the father. "Chester has promised to stay with us, and be--"

"Your man--about--the--house," finished Chester.

"Which we certainly need," agreed Lucy. "Two people, Strong by name, but mighty weak by nature, as my old nurse used to say, require some such a man. I'm glad father picked you."

"He chose us, rather, Lucy," said the father.

"Well, either way."