in bed and staring straight before him. Going swiftly to his side, she spoke to him, and the sound of her voice attracted his attention. He turned his eyes toward her, and reached out his right hand. This Marion grasped, and the expression which overspread the old man’s face told of his satisfaction.
“Where have you been, dear?” he asked. “I thought you were never coming.”
“Just outside,” Marion replied, somewhat startled at the word of endearment. “But come, lie down again. You must not tire yourself.”
“Have the Indians come back yet?” the man asked, unheeding her words. “It will be Christmas soon, and we must give them a good time.”
“He thinks you are his wife,” Zell whispered, as she stood by the nurse’s side. “He doesn’t know us. What a strange look he has in his eyes.”
As gently as possible Marion forced the missionary to lie back upon the pillow. But he was excited, and held her hand fast.
“That word doesn’t look right, Martha,” he said. “It seems strange.”
“What word?” Marion asked, hoping to detect some gleam of intelligence in his wandering mind.
“No, no,” he continued, “that’s not the word I want. Where is it? Ah, I have it!” His eyes brightened, and a smile illumined his face. “Love—that’s it! ‘Greater love hath—’” He paused abruptly, drew his hand quickly from Marion’s, and pointed excitedly with his forefinger straight before him. “They’re coming!” he cried. “I see them; they’re on the trail; they’ll be here soon! Thank God, my flock is coming back, and Zell is with them! Don’t you see her, Martha? Little Zell, who left us; she is coming home again!”
