"Not for the poor little mite's cold hands?" said the old woman.
It was very hard, but Janet had to say no.
The old woman said no more for some time. Then suddenly, "Did you ever see the late King, God bless him?" she asked.
"Yes," said Janet, "I saw him once. It was at the opening of Parliament."
"Then you can tell me," said the old woman, "something I want to know; for I was arguing it with my daughter's husband the last time I was here, and I want to convince him. He says—my daughter's husband, that is—that the King had thick hair on the top of his head, God bless him! and I say he hadn't. What I say is, he'd got all the hair he needed. So if you ever saw him, you could tell me."
"Oh, no, I can't," Janet said. "When I saw him he was in a carriage."
"What a pity!" said the old woman. "But haven't you a portrait of him anywhere?"
"No, I'm sure we haven't," said Janet. "Perhaps we ought to have! It would be more loyal, wouldn't it?"
"Never mind," said the old woman; "only it would put my mind at rest." And then suddenly she began to laugh. "Why," she said, "how silly we are! Of course you've got portraits of him—lashin's of them, darlin'."
"Where?" Janet exclaimed.