That afternoon it occured to Chester that the relationship now existing between him and Lucy called for a further understanding with the father.  He knew, of course, that the father’s attitude toward him had changed; Lucy’s words and the father’s actions justified him in the thought.

Chester managed to accompany the father in his stroll in the park that afternoon, and without delay, he broached the subject so near his heart.  The minister listened quietly to the young man plead his case, not interrupting until he had finished.  They seated themselves on a bench by the grass.  The father looked down at the figures he was drawing with his cane on the ground and mused for a moment.  Then he said: 

“Yes; I have given my consent, by my actions, at least.  I have no objection to you.  I like you very much.  Lucy does too, and fathers can’t very well stop such things.  But there still remains the fact that Lucy is not well.  There is no telling how long she can live, and yet I have heard of cases like hers where marriage has been a great benefit.”

“I thank you for your kind words,” said Chester.  “Let me assure you I shall be controlled by your judgement as to marriage.  We are neither of us ready for that.  Of course, I sincerely hope she will get stronger.  I think she will; but meantime you have no objection to my loving her, and doing all for her that my love can do?”

“Certainly not, my boy, certainly not.”  The father placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder as he said it.  Chester noted the faint tremor in voice and hand, and his heart went out to him.

“You are a comfort and a strength to Lucy—­and to me,” continued Mr. Strong.  “We miss you very much when you are away.  Can’t you stay with us right along.  Perhaps that’s not fair to ask—­your home and friends—­”

“I have no home, my dear sir; and my friends, are few.  I told you, did I not, my history?”

“Yes, you told me, I remember.”

“And remembering, you think no less of me.”

“Not a bit—­rather more.”

“Let me serve you then, you and Lucy.  If you need me, I equally need you.  Let me give what little there is in me to somebody that wants me.  My life, so far, has been full of change and somewhat purposeless.  I have drifted about the world.  Let me now anchor with you.  I feel as though I ought to do that—­”

The man clung closer to Chester, who, feeling a thrill of dear companionship, continued: 

“Let me be a son to you always, and a sister to Lucy, until it can be something more.”

“Yes, yes, my boy!”

Others were out basking in the warm sun that afternoon.  Those that walked leisurely and took notice of events about them, were impressed by the affectionate behavior of the two men.  Lucy Strong was herself out.  She was curious to know what had become of Chester and her father, besides, the sun was inviting.  She soon found them, herself undiscovered.  She paused, examined the flower beds, and became interested in the swans in the lake.  Her face beamed with happiness when she saw them, for their shoulders were close together and Chester had her father’s hands clasped firmly in his own.  She tiptoed up behind them on the grass, then slipped her hands over each of their eyes.