"Harry what? Harry Carew?"
"No, Harry; just Harry."
"And how do you like it here?"
"I like it; I like it better than my old home."
"Where was your old home?"
"I don't know. I didn't like it."
"He was with uncongenial people, and he is very sensitive," put in Mrs. Carew, softly.
"I like it here," he repeated, "and I like the big ocean. I am going on the ocean. And I like horses. Get up, Dandy!" and he cracked his whip and was off again on his imaginary trot.
I felt very foolish over the doubts I had so openly evinced. This was not only a boy to the marrow of his bones, but he was, as any eye could see, the near relative she called him. In my embarrassment I rose; at all events I soon found myself standing near the door with Mrs. Carew.
"A fine fellow!" I enthusiastically exclaimed; "and startlingly like you in expression. He is your nephew, I believe?"