No other woman would have stooped down by his bed, and taken up his wasted
hand, and put it to her lips and breast, as one who had some right to
fondle it.
"Floy, this is a kind, good face," said Paul. "I am glad to see it again.
Don't go away, old nurse. Stay here."
"Good-bye, my child," cried Mrs. Pipchin, hurrying to his bed's head. "Not
good-bye?"
For an instant Paul looked at her with the wistful face with which he had
so often gazed upon her in his corner by the fire.
"Ah, yes," he said, placidly, "good-bye. Where is papa?"
He felt his father's breath upon his cheek before the words had parted
from his lips.
"Now lay me down," he said, "and, Floy, come close to me, and let me see
you."
Sister and brother wound their arms around each other, and the golden
light came streaming in, and fell upon them, locked together.
"How fast the river runs, between its green banks and the rushes, Floy.
But it's very near the sea. I hear the waves."
Presently he told her that the motion of the boat upon the stream was
lulling him to rest. How near the banks were now. How bright the flowers
growing on them, and how tall the rushes. Now the boat was out at sea but
gliding smoothly on.
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