to St.
Patrick's street. Chester and Lucy and the girl with the basket
followed.

"This is quite an honor," remarked Chester, "to have a company of
soldiers come to meet us, and to be escorted into town by music like
this. How did _they_ know?"

"Know what?" escaped from Lucy before she discerned his meaning.

"Why, you silly man," she replied, "the honor is for the kittens!"

Uncle Gilbert met them at the door. "Your father is sleeping--getting
along fine," he explained. "Now then, young man, did you kiss the
Blarney Stone?"

"Why--no--I--"

"You didn't! You missed the greatest opportunity in your life."

"Oh, no, I didn't." replied Chester. "Far from it."

Lucy, rosy red, fled past her teasing uncle into the house.

CHAPTER IX.

A warm, gentle rain was falling. No regrets or complaints were heard at
Kildare Villa, for, as Uncle Gilbert said, the farmers needed it, he and
his people were comfortably housed, and the excursionists--meaning
Chester and Lucy--would do well to remain quiet for a day.

The minister had so far recovered that he walked unaided into the large
living room, where a fire in the grate shed a genial warmth. Chester and
Lucy were already there, she at the piano and he singing softly. At
sight of her father, Lucy ran to him, helped him to a seat, then kissed
him good morning.

"How much better you are!" she said.

"Yes; I am glad I am nearly myself again--thanks to Aunt Sarah," he
said, as that good woman entered the room with pillows and footrest for
the invalid, who was made quite comfortable. Then the aunt delivered him
to the care of the two young people, with an admonition against drafts
and loud noises.

"All right, daddy; now what can we do for you?" asked Lucy.

"You were singing--when I came in. * * * Sing the song again."

"But loud noises, you know."

"Sing--softly," he replied.

The two went back to the piano. Lucy played and both sang in well
modulated, subdued voices,

"Jesus, I my cross have taken
All to leave and follow Thee;
Naked, poor, despised, forsaken,
Thou, from hence my all shall be.
Perish every fond ambition,
All I've sought, or hoped, or known,
Yet how rich is my condition,
God and heaven are still my own."

They sang the three stanzas. The two voices blended beautifully. The
father asked them to sing the song again, which they did. Then they sang
others, some of which were not familiar to the list