"Yes," she repeated; "I should hardly have known you. Come here a minute, and I can change you so you wouldn't recognize yourself a bit."
Charlie laughed at the seriousness of her tone, as he seated himself on the arm of her chair, while she patted and poked at his hair, until she had parted it in the middle and brushed it away from his forehead, where it usually lay in a close, short fringe. She studied the effect for a moment; then she gently pulled off his glasses.
"Poor old boy!" she said caressingly, as she drew her finger down along the narrow white scar that crossed his upper lid. "You still carry your beauty-spot; don't you? I wish 'twould go away."
"What for? Does it show so very much?" asked Charlie.
"No, not a bit, with your glasses on; but I never like to think back to that horrid day," she replied, with a frown. "I was sure you were going to die, or something."
"Well, I didn't. You see, I'm tough," returned Charlie placidly. "Besides, we had some good fun together, after the first week or two. But how do you like the looks?"
"Your own great-grandmother wouldn't have any idea who you were," said Allie decidedly.
"Most likely not," observed Charlie.
"But just you go and look in the glass, and see for yourself!" And Allie sprang up, and dragged her cousin to the nearest mirror. All at once she began to caper madly about the room.
"What's struck you, Allie?" inquired Charlie, pausing in his contemplation of himself to stare at his excited cousin.