  Produced by Al Haines. [image] Cover art [image] THE SLIPPERY ROCKS. See p. LENA GRAHAM BY AUTHOR OF LONDON (All rights reserved) [image] Title page CONTENTS.
LENA GRAHAM. CHAPTER I. AT AUNT MARY'S. "It does seem so strange not to know one's own Papa and Mama and sisters; does it not, Auntie?" remarked Lena Graham, leaning her arm on the mantelpiece as she spoke, and gazing thoughtfully at a photograph that stood there. "You are not the only little girl in the world that has had, from one cause or another, to be separated from her parents, Lena dear," said her Aunt, looking up from her work to answer her little niece. "And I think you have been very happy with me, my pet," she continued. In a moment Lena was beside her, saying, "Happy! oh yes, there never was such a good kind Auntie as you anywhere; but I cannot help wondering if they will love me. And"—— "Love you, Lena, your parents!" interrupted her Aunt. "Not exactly that either, Auntie, for I know they do from their letters, but you know they have Milly and Lucy." "And Aunt Mary has only her little Lena," said Miss Somerville, stroking back her niece's hair, and looking fondly at the young face lifted to hers. "You will be so happy altogether, dear, that you will wonder how you ever got on without companions of your own age." "I mean to be so kind to them, Auntie, and lend them all my things, and help Milly with her lessons; for you know I am much older than she is." "Only two years; and I fancy, from all I hear, that Milly is old for her age. She has seen more than my little girl, so I don't think you will find her so much younger in her ways than yourself." "I am two years and five months older than she is," said Lena, who liked to have what she considered the full advantage. "We shall know all about it very soon, for, if I am not much mistaken, there will be a letter to-night saying when they will arrive here." Lena was too excited and impatient to settle down quietly that evening to either books or work; even the doll was neglected, which was not often the case, for Lena was devoted to this especial one, who was called after her two unknown sisters, "Millicent Lucy," as a special token of affection. She wandered aimlessly about the room, now stopping to gaze at the photograph on the mantel-piece, and ask, for the hundredth time, "if it was really like," then to the window to peep out and wonder when the "postman would come," and if, when he did come, he would bring a letter from the expected travellers. The photograph that engrossed so much of her thoughts and attention consisted of a group of four persons. Mrs. Graham was seated, holding little Lucy on her knee; at her feet, Milly was sitting on a stool; while Colonel Graham stood, leaning one arm on his wife's chair, and looking, Lena thought, very grave and a little bit stern. Perhaps, thought Lena, "that was because he was accustomed to command his soldiers, and had been in battle." She hoped he did not always look like that, for if he did she might be a little bit afraid of him, though Auntie did say, "there was no fear of such a thing happening." Lena Graham had only a very dim, childish remembrance of her parents, for it was fully six years since she had seen them. Just half her young life had been passed under Aunt Mary's loving care. Six years before our story commences, Colonel Graham's regiment was ordered to India. At first both he and his wife had hoped to take their little girls out with them, but just at that time Lena was taken ill; and though better and stronger when the time came for their leaving England, she was not strong enough, the doctor said, to stand a hot climate. It was then that Miss Somerville, Mrs. Graham's sister, had offered to take charge of the little Lena. Millicent was a strong, healthy child, and well able to stand the climate, at any rate for a year or two. About a year after their leaving England, Colonel Graham was offered an appointment for five years at one of the hill stations, which he gladly accepted, as the climate was as cool and healthy as at home, and thus was able not only to keep Millicent with them, but the baby sister that had been born after their arrival in the far East. The five years had now come to an end. And the day before we make the acquaintance of their daughter Helena, or Lena as she was always called, Colonel and Mrs. Graham had arrived in England. The child was naturally all eagerness to see them; not even the knowledge that in a few days she would be separated from her Aunt could cast a shadow over her, and, childlike, she was too much absorbed in her own prospects of happiness, to note the shade of sadness that sometimes crossed her Aunt's kind face, as she listened to her merry chatter, at the thought that would intrude itself, of how sorely she would miss her little niece's loving companionship, and how dull the house would be when the sound of the bright young voice would be heard there no longer. The last few years had been very happy ones to both aunt and niece, and Lena warmly returned all the love and care that had been lavished on her. Miss Somerville was not strong, and both from this circumstance, and also from inclination, her life had been a secluded one, and her whole time and attention had been devoted to the education and bringing up of her young charge. It would be a different life, she knew, that her niece would lead after this, for in the future she would have to share not only her lessons but her pleasures with her sisters, and instead of being the first to be considered, as had been the case hitherto, she would be one among others, and would have to learn not only to take but give. (And as our story goes on, we shall see what fruits she will show of the loving training she had received.) As these thoughts passed through Miss Somerville's mind, the postman's knock was heard at their door. With one bound Lena was out of the room, exclaiming, "There he is at last!" returning in a very short space of time with a letter in her hand. "It's from Papa; I know his handwriting. Do make haste, Auntie, and read it. I wonder Mama did not write to me." "They will be here to-morrow, darling. Poor Mama had a headache, from all the bustle and noise of London, I should think. The black nurse she brought home with her has already got an engagement to return with a lady to her own country, so they will have to come without a nurse. Hester will be able to look after Lucy until Mama finds one to suit her." "O Auntie, I will look after Lucy; I am sure I could do all she wants." Auntie laughed as she answered, "I don't think you quite understand the duties of a nurse, dear, but you can be of great use and comfort to Mama, I am sure." "Yes, I mean to be," was the confident answer. "You mean, dear, you will try to be." But Lena did not wait to answer. She left the room, saying, "I must go and tell Hester that they are really coming to-morrow." And off she went, only to return with some new question that she wanted Auntie to answer. Not until the bell rang for prayers did she quiet down, and when she rose from her knees there was a very grave, subdued look on her face. As soon as they were alone, she flung her arms round her Aunt's neck, exclaiming, "Ah, I do wish you were coming too! It won't be perfectly happy without you, Auntie, darling." "Dear one, you must not expect perfect happiness anywhere in this world," she answered, returning her embrace. "But I shall miss you so." "And I shall miss you sadly; but I cannot be so selfish, as to grudge Mama the happiness of having her eldest daughter with her." "I do so long to see her, my very own Mama, but I want you too." "What a greedy little creature! Why, you will have Milly and Lucy, as well as Papa and Mama, and not satisfied!" "If I had you too, I should be perfectly satisfied. I should not want anything else in the world." "Ah, Lena dear, I fear that you would not find it so." "Yes, I am sure I should." Auntie shook her head. "Don't be too confident, dear; you must not expect that in the future you will have everything you want. You will have to share your pleasures with Milly." "Oh, I shall like that." "I am very glad to hear it, dear," was the quiet answer. "Now, Auntie, don't look so grave; for you will see how well I shall behave, and show that your child can be really good." "Not my child, Lena dear. To be really good you must be the child of God." Auntie spoke so gravely that Lena, humbled and ashamed, whispered, "Yes indeed, Auntie, I will try," as she gave and received her good-night kiss. Miss Somerville lived in a pretty sea-coast town called West Meadenham. In truth, it was but a suburb of Meadenham proper, but that town had grown so large of late years that the numerous streets, squares, and terraces that had sprung up around it, considered themselves important enough to have a name of their own; but as if to show to the world in general, that they did not wish to throw off all allegiance from the dear old town, that nestled so comfortably at the foot of the high cliff that sheltered it from the cold east winds of spring, it modestly christened itself, West Meadenham, instead of choosing a new name. The next day arrived, fine as heart could wish, a bright sun shining overhead, and a soft breeze blowing from the sea. No wonder that Lena exclaimed, "How lovely!" as she came out of the house and gazed around her as if drinking in the beauty of the morning. The trees were all decked in their first fresh young green, the air scented with the sweet perfume of the spring flowers, that made the garden of Scarsdale Villa look quite gay even in April. Their house was the last of a row of villas almost in the country, and before and behind them stretched green fields. Let me describe Lena Graham to you, as she stands, sniffing up the fresh air that brings the healthy roses into her cheeks, and gives her a hearty appetite for the bread-and-butter that she is only waiting for Aunt Mary's appearance to attack with good-will. A sturdy little English girl, rather short for her age, with rosy cheeks and bright intelligent brown eyes, that glance here, there, and everywhere; long light-brown hair, tied back from her face with a blue ribbon, that matches in colour the blue serge dress she wears. The face has a bright, open expression, and the girl's whole appearance speaks of the happy, peaceful life she leads. Shading her eyes with her hand from the sun, she looks about attentively. "Yes," she remarks to herself in a low voice, "I can get plenty for both rooms without spoiling the garden. I think Mama shall have the violets, and Milly the primroses; and I shall ask Auntie to let me run to the fields and get some cowslips for Lucy; and Papa shall have some of all, because he is the only man." Here her meditations were broken into by hearing Auntie's voice calling— "Lena, Lena, where are you, dear child?" "Here; Auntie; it's such a lovely day, do come out just for one minute." "It must be only for one minute then," said her Aunt as she joined her. "Yes, it is a lovely day. We can welcome Papa and Mama with both sunshine and smiles." "Sunshine in doors and out," said Lena, with a beaming look as they entered the house together. Lena always did lessons with her Aunt, but to-day was to be a holiday, for Miss Somerville saw that the child was too excited and nervous to settle down quietly to work; and besides that, there was a good deal to be done in the way of preparation for the expected travellers, for it was not often that so large a party as four people came to visit their quiet household. They were not expected until five o'clock, so Lena had the whole day before her to wonder and speculate in. The morning passed away quickly, as time always does when one is busy and occupied, and in the afternoon Lena was to arrange the flowers in the different rooms. Aunt Mary quite approved of the arrangement Lena had made as to the ones each was to have, though she asked why Lena had chosen those especial ones. "Violets for Mama, because they are so sweet; and they are getting scarce now, you know, Auntie: they are nearly over in the garden." "I didn't know that." "Why, Auntie, we have picked them all; I wish I had not now. And then primroses for Milly, because they are my favourite flower, and I want her to like all I do." "Or you could like what she does?" "But she must like primroses, she couldn't help it; then cowslips for Lucy, they are nearly as nice as primroses; but I want Milly to have the nicest, because she's to be my great friend; and I thought Papa ought to have some of all." Here Lena stopped, and looked at her Aunt for approval. "Very well, dear; come out and get them." "And may I arrange them?" "Yes, and put them in the different rooms." "Thank you, Auntie dear. And then may I put on my best dress? I do want to look nice when they come." "Yes, darling," said Miss Somerville with a smile. Then she went to the window and watched the child as she gathered the flowers, flitting from one place to another, as busy as a bee, looking up every now and then, to nod smilingly to her Aunt, or to hold up her treasures to be admired. No fear, she thought, of her parents or any one not thinking her nice, as Lena had expressed it. She smiled to herself as she thought of the happiness of the parents at getting back the child from whom they had so long been parted; and much as she would miss the cheerful, loving little companion who had brightened her lonely life, she felt it would be better for Lena herself to take her place once more among young companions. In the nursery or the school-room, where there are two or three together, it is, as it were, a little world of its own. No one in particular can have the entire care and thought of the whole household. All must take their place and their share both in the duties and pleasures of everyday life. This was exactly what had been wanting to Lena, and hers was a character that especially required it. It is so very easy for any one of us to accustom ourselves to be the first to be considered, and Lena was no exception to this. She had a warm, loving heart, but a proud, wilful temper; humility was a grace she sadly lacked. A loving word from Auntie would bring the ready tears to Lena's eyes, but what she considered a hard or disparaging word would make them flash as quickly. How she and Millicent would get on together, was rather an anxious thought to Miss Somerville, for dearly as she loved her little niece, she was not blind to her faults; and if the sisters were alike in character, there would not, she feared, be always peace. Lena had a very decided opinion on the subject of elder sisters, and that she was the eldest of the family, she always made a point of dwelling upon. Neither a cloud nor a doubt crossed the child's own mind as to the future. Of course Millicent and Lucy would love her as much as she was prepared to love them, and they would all be so happy together, she knew. The only shadow was the thought that she would have to part with dear Aunt Mary; but as that parting was not to be at once, she cast the thought away with the happy ease of childhood. CHAPTER II. THE ARRIVAL. As it struck five by the drawing-room clock, Lena threw open the hall-door and ran to the gate; and opening it, she went out and gazed eagerly down the road. Scarsdale Villa, as Aunt Mary's house was called, was built on the top of a long hill that ran straight down into the town. As Lena now stood, the town itself seemed to be at her feet, and beyond the houses lay the sea, stretching away into the distance, far as the eye could reach, and now sparkling in the bright spring sunshine. But its beauty was quite thrown away upon Lena; her eager gaze was fixed on one particular spot on the road—the turning to the station. She had not long to wait, for in a very few minutes she was gladdened by the sight of a cab, well covered with luggage, coming round the corner, and commencing the ascent of the hill. At this sight, she turned and darted back into the house, calling loudly for "Auntie." "Do you see them, dear?" Miss Somerville asked. "There's a cab coming this way, and it has luggage; it must be them, I am sure. Do come out and look." Taking her Aunt's hand, they went out together and watched the well-laden cab as it came slowly up the hill. Often and often had Lena grumbled at that weary hill, when she came home, tired-out after a long afternoon's ramble on the sands, or a walk into Meadenham, but never before had she thought it so long and tedious as that day. She watched the cab come "creeping along," as she called it. Then as it drew very near, a new fit came over her—a fit of shyness. Clasping Auntie's hand very tight, she crept very close to her, whispering, "I do hope;" but she had no time to say more, for at that moment a gentleman's head was put out of the cab window, that Lena instantly recognised as the same face whose photograph she had looked at so often. "Papa!" she almost gasped in her excitement. "Here they are, waiting to welcome us home," called out Colonel Graham in a loud, cheery voice, and then the cab stopped, and there came warm, loving greetings. Lena had no very distinct recollection of all that was done or said for the next few minutes, but among all the greetings and fuss of arrival was one remembrance, that Lena thought would never leave her. It was Mama's soft voice, that said, "My darling child; thank God for giving you back to me," so loving and tender, that Lena knew then how dear she was to Mama. Not till they were all seated quietly in the drawing-room had Lena time to take a good look at these dear ones. Ah, she would have known Mama anywhere, she was sure, for there was the same sweet gentle face, that had looked at her from her picture, day after day. And Papa did not look one bit stern, or grave, but was just the sort of papa she approved of; and dear, fat, chubby Lucy, with her fair curls and blue eyes—"a perfect pet" was Lena's verdict of her little sister; but Millicent, who was to be her own particular sister and companion, she was not quite what she expected her to be. As she sat on the sofa beside Mama, her hand clasped in hers, she heard Aunt Mary say— "They are very like, really; the same eyes and hair, and the likeness will be more apparent when Milly gets some of Lena's roses and plumpness." What Lena saw was a tall slight girl, as tall as herself, though she had two years and five months the advantage in age, with large serious brown eyes, and a pale face. "No." Lena thought Auntie mistaken in this matter; surely she and Milly were not alike. As she gazed, or, I might say, stared at her sister, their eyes met, and Milly smiled such a sweet loving smile that lighted up her whole face, and that so altered and improved it, that Lena was not so much disposed to disagree with her Aunt's opinion as before. Tea was brought in, and Lena was too busy waiting upon the travellers to think more about the likeness. Milly was shy and quiet; but that Lena did not so much object to, as it would enable her to show her all the more kindness and attention, for of course she was at home here, and the truth must be told, liked doing the honours of the house. Her sudden fit of nervousness soon passed off, and she was giving Mama her tea, and chatting away quite at her ease before very long. "Milly and I are to stay up and have dinner with you to-night, Mama," said Lena. "Auntie thought Lucy would go to bed then, for it is not till seven." "I hope you have not altered your hours for us, Mary?" said Colonel Graham. "Now Papa, please," began Lena. "No, no, my little girl," he said very decidedly, "we cannot allow your Aunt to alter her hours; it is very kind of her to have such a large party of us, as it is." "We will talk about that to-morrow," said Miss Somerville with a smile. "Now I think it is time for you all to come and see your rooms; one little pair of eyes is looking very sleepy." Lucy, who was alluded to, was sitting by the table, her little head nodding and her eyes half-closed; but at the mere suggestion of bed she protested crossly, "that she did not want to go to bed." "We are all going upstairs, darling; you don't want to stay down here by yourself, do you?" No, Lucy didn't want that, so she consented to go up with the others. "Let me carry you," proposed Lena, lovingly. Now Lucy was tired and sleepy, and, as very often happens in these cases, very cross, so instead of responding to Lena's kindly offer, she pushed her away with, "No, don't want you; Milly must." A shade came over Lena's face, she had meant so kindly. "O Lucy, what a cross little thing you are," said Milly. "She doesn't mean it, Lena, only she is accustomed to me; and last night I had to do it because Nana was gone, and Mama had such a bad headache," she went on to say, as she followed Lena upstairs with Lucy in her arms. "I will send Hester to help you, Milly," said her Aunt; "you must be tired too." "And Mama wants Lena to help her this first evening," said Mrs. Graham, drawing the girl to her side lovingly, for she had seen the shadow that had come to the child's face at Lucy's cross words. "You must not mind Lucy being cross, dear, for the child has been excited and wearied with all the changes and strangeness of her life the last few days, and I am sorry to say has been rather spoilt on board ship. It is very difficult to avoid it there." "And has not Milly?" "Ah, Milly is such a quiet, staid little mortal, she is not easily spoiled; she has been the greatest comfort to me during the voyage, and now I have you too, my little one," was Mrs. Graham's answer, as she took Lena's face in both hands and kissed it, then, looking at her lovingly, said, "I think I should hardly have known you for the same white, delicate little thing that I left with such a sad heart all these years ago." "Dear Mama," was Lena's only answer. As they entered the bedroom, Mrs. Graham exclaimed, "Ah what sweet violets, my favourite flower! I think I can guess who placed them here." "I did not know they were your favourites, but they are so sweet I thought you must like them." "Such a pretty, homelike room," said Mama, looking round. "I often used to try and picture to myself what my little girl was doing, and what her surroundings were like." "Wasn't Aunt Mary living here when you went away?" "No, dear; she came here in hopes that the sea air would make you strong and rosy again, as it has." "O Mama, you can see the sea from the windows in Papa's dressing-room; do come and look at it." Taking her mother's hand, they went into the dressing-room, the window of which looked over the garden and towards the sea. Here they were joined by Colonel Graham, and as Lena stood between them, a hand clasped in each of theirs, she thought that there was not a happier little girl in the world than herself, and I think she was right. Silence fell upon them as they looked; so long it lasted that Lena looked up at her mother, and seeing her eyes full of tears, asked anxiously— "Mama, what is it; what are you thinking of; aren't you happy?" "Very happy, darling," said Mama, smiling down on her through her tears. "I was thinking how good and grateful we ought to be to Him, who has guarded us all these long years, and now brought us together again. "Safely and well," added Papa. "And, my Lena, we all must try to show our love and thankfulness not only in words, but in very deed and truth." At that moment a knock was heard at the door, and Milly looked in. "As you were not in your room, Mama, I thought you must be in here," she said. "Looking at your beloved sea," said Papa, holding out his hand to her to come and join them. "Is Milly so fond of it?" asked Lena. "Yes, so fond that we were thinking of making a present of her to the captain of our ship," said Papa, laughing. "I have the sea here, and you as well, and," she added shyly, "Lena too." "True, most sensible of little women; but, Lena, you must not think she is always so alarmingly sensible, for alas!"—and here Papa shook his head with affected sadness,—"she does love fun and romping sometimes." Millicent laughed as Lena exclaimed eagerly— "Oh, I am so glad, for I do, and I do want her to be my companion; we can have such fun on the rocks, Milly." "Yes, dear; I trust you will be firm friends as well as companions. Milly has been longing for sister Lena." "And I have been longing for her," was Lena's answer. "You have been very quick putting Lucy to bed: was she good?" asked Mrs. Graham. "Oh, Hester did that; she was quite good with her, and Aunt Mary said I had better not stay, for she wanted her to grow accustomed to Hester." "And where are you to sleep?" "In the room with Lucy. I took off my things there, and I thought you might want me to help you." "Oh, let me do that to-night," pleaded Lena. "I shall be glad of help from you both. We have been idling our time away here talking instead of getting ready for dinner, and nothing is unpacked." So saying, Mrs. Graham returned to her room, followed by the two girls, and very soon they were both busily engaged, undoing parcels, and getting out things that were required for the night. At first they delayed one another by both working at the same box, and strewing its contents over the floor. Such dreadful confusion ensued from this, that Mrs. Graham proposed that one should do the unpacking, while the other put the things away tidily in the drawers. "Who shall unpack?" asked Lena. "Well, I think you had better, and Milly can put away, for she knows what we shall require at first." "I shall know soon, too, shan't I?" asked Lena; "but I like unpacking best, and seeing what you have got." "You will never get through your work if you stop to examine and admire everything," said Mrs. Graham, as she watched her taking a good look at each thing she brought out of the box. Milly took the opportunity while she was stooping down to take some clothes out of Lena's arms, to whisper, "I like the flowers so much." "Do you know which are meant for you?" she asked, stopping in her work for a reply. "Yes, the primroses, Aunt Mary told me. I think them lovely." After this they worked away busily until dinner-time. Then, when the bell sounded, Lena rushed off to tell Aunt Mary what she had been doing, and also to inform her that they were all dear darlings; and, "what did Auntie think of Milly?" Auntie's opinion was very favourable. Then Lena suggested, "But don't you think she is very quiet?" "She is very sweet and gentle, and I think very shy; but as you know, Lena, I do not dislike a little bit of shyness in children; it is far, far better than being forward." "But not too shy?" "Milly is not that; and I feel sure that you will be great friends as well as loving little sisters before long." This conversation took place as they went down to the drawing-room, Lena hanging on to her Aunt's arm, as she eagerly questioned her. Finding no one in the drawing-room, Lena began again— "Isn't she tall, Auntie, nearly as tall as I am?"—the "she" alluded to being, of course, Milly. "Quite as tall as you are, I think, though that is not such an enormous height, for"—— "No, I know," burst in Lena; "I wish I was taller, because people will never believe that I am so much older than she is." Miss Somerville laughed as she answered, "I do not think that that need cause you unhappiness, dear." The entrance of Mrs. Graham and Milly put an end to their conversation; then Colonel Graham came in, and they all went into the dining-room. After dinner the two sisters went off together to Lena's room, to see all her treasures. There had been a certain constraint and shyness between them, as is so often the case with children in the presence of their elders. When they were alone, this wore off very quickly, and soon they were chatting away together, the best of friends; and although Lena's tongue was going at a gallop, Milly managed to keep up a very good second. When Aunt Mary came to tell them it was time to go to bed, she found them seated, side by side, on the floor, Milly clasping in her arms "Millicent Lucy," while Lena held forth on the doings and sayings of Aunt Mary and herself; and promising Milly all sorts of delights, in both their names. "O Auntie, we are having such a nice talk." "Which I have come to put an end to." "Already?" "Yes, dears; it is prayer-time now." At this both girls jumped up, and Dolly being put away carefully, the two girls followed their Aunt downstairs, hand clasped in hand. Later, Mama went up with her two girls to see Lucy. Such a pretty picture she made, Lena thought, as she looked down on the chubby little face, all flushed with sleep, one small arm thrown over her head, and the fair curls all tossed about in confusion. As Mrs. Graham looked down on her little one, her heart swelled with love and gratitude at once more having all her children with her. Putting an arm round each of the others, she said in a low voice, "I trust, darlings, that you both thanked Him to-night for His great mercy to us all?" "Yes, Mama," Milly whispered, shyly. "And for letting Lena be so nice and kind, and Aunt Mary too." "And, Mama, I have to thank Him for double as much as Milly has, for I have four of you all at once, and you are all just as nice as I hoped and expected." "I am glad you are not disappointed in any of us, darling," answered her mother with a smile; "but we must not talk any more beside Lucy or we shall awake her." "I may give her one kiss, please, Mama," said Lena; "she does look such a sweet!" "Only one, and try and not to awake her, dear," was the answer. Then they left Milly, and Mama took Lena to her room, and said good-night. Aunt Mary had been in and given her good-night kiss, and Lena was just falling off to sleep, all sorts of pleasant happy thoughts passing through her mind, in the confused sort of way that so often happens after anything pleasant has occurred—thoughts half real, half dreams, all jumbled up together in hopeless confusion, but very sweet withal,—when the door of her room opened very gently, but still making just noise enough to call forth the sleepy question, "Auntie, is that you?" "No, darling, it's Mama." "Mama!" she exclaimed, raising her head and rubbing her sleepy eyes. "I could not go to sleep without one more look at my newly restored treasure." Throwing her arms round her mother's neck, she said fervently, "I am so glad to have you, Mama; and I will be a treasure to you and be so good, indeed I will." "God grant it, my darling," was Mama's answer to her as she laid the sleepy little head on the pillow again. Then kneeling beside her child's little bed she thanked Him, in a few heartfelt words, for having watched over and guarded her little one, during those six long years of separation. |
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