"Truth is her sister," said one of the younger members, and added, "I
think she is far better and prettier than Error,--"
"Far better, far better," continued the physician, looking only at the
child, and inwardly saying, "Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings
come words of wisdom."
"I met her on the hill,--the one you call Truth," he said, in answer to
the searching look of Mrs. Highbred, who by manner and inquiry plainly
manifested her desire to have an end of the unusual state of things.
"I will go for her. She will return with me," continued the doctor,
"and soon we will find some spot to which we can remove Error."
A look of relief came over the face of the lady as he departed.
Truth heard not the sound of the horses, nor the rumbling of wheels
as they approached, so intent were her thoughts on separation from her
sister and her own strange mission to earth; and she scarce sensed
whither she was going, when the kind man courteously lifted her into his
carriage. But when she stood by the fevered, unconscious form of Error,
a few moments later, all her clearness of thought was at her command.
"Carry her to the cottage on the hill-side," she said, as she bound a
cool bandage on her sister's brow.
They bore her there, and, as though in mercy, a dark cloud shut off
the sun's rays, and their fierce glare was obscured during transit from
the home of splendor to the humble cottage.
There for many weeks Truth nursed her sister, while the kind hostess
and kind neighbors aided by words and deeds through the long night
watches.
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