She was driven along a rough country road, to a
square farm-house--looming up white through the dark--and a moment later
she was lying, pale and exhausted, in the arms of Nurse Day.
"My blessed child!" cried the old lady; "my precious little Margie! My
old eyes will almost grow young again, after having been cheered by the
sight of ye!" And she kissed Margie again and again, while Leo expressed
his delight in true canine style--by barking vociferously, and leaping
over the chairs and tables.
Nurse Day was pleasantly situated. Her husband was a grave, staid
man who was very kind to Margie, always. The farm was a rambling
affair--extending over, and embracing in its ample limits, hill and dale,
meadow and woodland, and a portion, of a bright, swift river, on whose
bold banks it was Margie's delight to sit through the purple sunsets, and
watch the play of light and shade on the bare, rocky cliff opposite.
Nature proved a true friend to the sore heart of the girl. The breezes,
so fresh, and sweet, and clear, soothed Margie inexpressibly. The
sunshine was a message of healing; the songs of the birds carried her
back to her happy childhood. Wandering through the leafy aisles of the
forest, she seemed brought nearer to God and his mercy.
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