She carried Jenny Baker, a rosy sprig of
babyhood, in the lovely curve of her arm; Bobby Baxter clasped her
neck from behind in a strangling embrace; Johnny, and Meg, and Billy
were tugging at her apron; and Marm Lisa was standing on tiptoe
trying to put a rose in her hair. Then the Solitary passed into the
crowd, and they saw him in the old places no more.
CHAPTER XIII--LEAVES FROM MISTRESS MARY'S GARDEN
'We have an unknown benefactor. A fortnight ago came three bushels
of flowers: two hundred tiny nosegays marked "For the children,"
half a dozen knots of pink roses for the "little mothers," a dozen
scarlet carnations for Lisa, while one great bunch of white lilies
bore the inscription, "For the Mother Superior." Last week a barrel
of apples and another of oranges appeared mysteriously, and to-day
comes a note, written in a hand we do not recognise, saying we are
not to buy holly, mistletoe, evergreens, Christmas tree, or baubles
of any kind, as they will be sent to us on December 22. We have
inquired of our friends, but have no clue as yet, further than it
must be somebody who knows our needs and desires very thoroughly. We
have certainly entertained an angel unawares, but which among the
crowd of visitors is it most likely to be? The Solitary, I wonder?
I should never have thought it, were it not for the memory of that
last day, the scene at the piano, the "song of him that overcometh,"
and the backward glance from the corner as he sprang, absolutely
sprang, on the car.
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