"How it sines!" she said with her baby lisp, and she passed her rosy fingertips over the gilding.
Meg looked at the bright hair falling in soft abundance over the tiny shoulders, at the dark lashes that shaded the eyes, surrounded by pearly shadows, at the sculptured lips, the upper lip lying softly curled over the lower. She thought she had never seen anything so dainty and delicate as this child. She seemed to be like a feather blown out of heaven across her path.
"What is your name?" asked Meg.
"Elsie," said the child; "and what is yours?"
"My name is Meg."
"Did your mamma give you those books?" asked the child.
"I have no mamma," Meg replied curtly.
"I have no mamma either; she is dead," said Elsie.
Meg was moved by one of those sudden emotions which come with a rush. She lifted her box with violence and carried it some paces off.