"Let me look at you," said Mr. Leverett, taking both of Doris' small hands. "I hardly saw you yesterday. You were buried in that big hat, and it was getting so dark. You have not much Adams about you, neither do you look French."
"Miss Arabella always said I looked like papa. There is a picture of him in my box. He had dark-blue eyes."
"Well, yours would pass for black. Do they snap when you get out of temper?"
Doris colored and cast them down.
"Don't tease her," interposed Mrs. Leverett. "She is not going to get angry. It is a bad thing for little girls."
"I don't remember much of anything about your father. Both of your aunts are dead. You have one cousin somewhere—Margaret's husband married and went South—to Virginia, didn't he? Well, there is no end of Adams connection even if some of them have different names. Captain Grier dropped into the warehouse with a tin box of papers, and your things are to be sent this afternoon. He is coming up this evening, and I've sent for Uncle Win to come over to supper. Then I suppose the child's fate will be settled, and she'll be a regular Boston girl."
"I do wonder if Uncle Win will let her stay here? Mother and I have decided that it is the best place."
"Do you think it a good place?"
He turned so suddenly to Doris that her face was scarlet with embarrassment.
"It's splendid," she said when she caught her breath. "I should like to stay. And Aunt Elizabeth will teach me to make pies."