She did not say that these
little ones had become her own special care, but caused his smile to
grow brighter by telling how like children the gentle Sisters themselves
were. She repeated what they had said of Tommy Dye's last visit. Their
serious, perplexed account of it was now unconsciously colored by her
own gentle, fine sense of humor which also came so close to pathos that
a lump rose in Paul Colbert's throat as he listened. He could see just
how poor Tommy Dye had looked, but his eyes grew dim while his lips
smiled. And now another and deeper shadow swiftly swept over his face.
"So even poor old Tommy Dye has gone to Tippecanoe. Everybody but me is
gone or going. I alone am left behind. And yet--even if this hadn't
happened--I must still have stood at my post," he said sadly.
Her hand fluttered down upon his like a startled dove. There was a
sudden radiance in her dark blue eyes. She barely breathed the next
words that she spoke:--
"Yes; you must have stayed, anyway. The doctor of the wilderness--the
healer everywhere--can never march with other soldiers.
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