Except that the face between the window-curtains was young, and the face between the bed-curtains was old, it was almost like a reflection in a mirror.
Ladybird smiled most engagingly and chanted:
“Good morning, Aunt Dorinda; I’m sitting in your window.”
And then, with the little dog still in her arms, she jumped down into the room.
“I’ll just hop in beside you for a minute,” said she, approaching the bed, “’cause my feet are cold—though it’s a lovely warm morning. What time do you have breakfast?”
As she spoke she snuggled herself, dog and all, into her aunt’s bed, and softly patted the old lady’s cheek.
Miss Dorinda knew she ought to be stern, but it was impossible, with the little childish face framed in its big cap-ruffle looking up into her own, and she said:
“About eight o’clock, dearie; are you hungry?”
“Yes, ’m; I’m ’most starved. The train was late last night, and I didn’t get any supper.”
“Why, you poor child! There, that’s the rising-bell. Run right back to your room and dress; the breakfast-bell will ring in just thirty minutes. Can you be ready?”