In a short time Lucy had got right under the situation.  She knew exactly what ought to be done and did it, being quite satisfied that Harry should spend his time in measuring accurately and packing with extremest care his pictures and curios and all the small things so large and important to himself.  And it was not to Harry but to Lucy that John gave all important instructions, for he soon perceived that it was Harry’s way to rush into the middle of things but never to overtake himself.

At length after ten days of unwearying superintendence, John felt that Lucy and Harry could be left to manage their own affairs.  Now, we like the people we help and bless, and John during his care for his brother’s family had become much attached to every member of it, for even little Agnes could now hold out her arms to him and lisp his name.  So his last duty in London was to visit Harry’s house and bid them all a short farewell.  He found Harry measuring with his foot rule a box for one of his finest paintings.  It had to be precisely of the size Harry had decided on and he was as bent on this result as if it was a matter of great importance.

“You see, John,” he said, “it is a very hard thing to make the box fit the picture.  It is really a difficult thing to do.”

John smiled and then asked, “Why should you do it, Harry?  It would be so easy not to do it, or to have a man who makes a business of the work do it for you.”  And Harry shook his head and began the measurement of box and picture over again.

“The little chappies are asleep, John, I wouldn’t disturb them.  Lucy is in the nursery.  You had better tell her anything that ought to be done.  I shall be sure to forget with these measurements to carry in my head.”

“Put them on paper, Harry.”

“The paper might get lost.”

And John smiled and answered, “So it might.”

So John went to the nursery and first of all to the boys’ bed.  Very quietly they slipped their little hands into his and told him in whispers, “Mamma is singing Agnes to sleep, and we must not make any noise.”  So very quiet good-bye kisses full of sweet promises were given and John turned towards Lucy.  She sat in her low nursing-chair slowly rocking to-and-fro the baby in her arms.  Her face was bent and smiling above it and she was singing sweet and singing low a strain from a pretty lullaby,

    “O rock the sweet carnation red,
    And rock the silver lining,
    And rock my baby softly, too,
    With skein of silk entwining. 
    Come, O Sleep, from Chio’s Isle! 
    And take my little one awhile!”

She had lost all her anxious expression.  She was rosy and smiling, and looked as if she liked the nursery rhyme as well as Agnes did and that Agnes liked it was shown by the little starts with which she roused herself if she felt the song slipping away from her.

“Let me kiss the little one,” said John, “and then I must bid you good-bye.  We shall soon meet again, Lucy, and I am glad to leave you looking so much better.”