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.