Carriages were waiting. Chester was introduced by Lucy in a way which
led to the inference that he was a particular friend of the family
picked up, perhaps, in their time of need. Bag and baggage was piled in
besides them and they drove away through the streets of Cork and into
the suburbs. Slowly the horse climbed the hill, but in a short time they
were at Uncle Gilbert's home, one of the beautiful ones situated among
the green of rolling hillside and the deeper green of trees.

There was another warm welcome by Aunt Sarah, who took immediate and
personal charge of the sick man.

"It's a break-down through overwork," she declared. "You Americans live
at such fever heat that it is no wonder you have no nerves. They're
burned out of you. But it's rest only he wants, poor man; and here's
where he'll get it. Don't you worry, Lucy."

Aunt Sarah's masterful treatment of cases such as these took much care
and anxiety from them all. Away from the bustle and roar of hurrying
humanity and traffic, resting amid the soothing green, and breathing the
mild air of the country; the minister ought surely to get well again
soon.

He would not go to bed, but chose to sit in a big chair with a pillow
under his head, looking out of the upstairs window which afforded a view
of the town. The sun came in rather strongly during the afternoon and
the father motioned Lucy to partly draw the blind. She did so, then drew
a stool to his chair and seated herself near him. He placed his hands on
her head, patted it caressingly, smiled at her, but said nothing. It was
still difficult for him to speak.