'So this child is quite alone in the world,' she said.
'Yes. Her father is dead and her mother is in an asylum.'
'Poor little thing!'
The two young women were leaning back in their chairs, their faces turned towards each other as they talked, and Ida was still busy with her crochet.
'Luckily she has a sunny nature,' said Miss More. 'She is interested in everything she sees and hears.' She laughed a little. 'I always speak of it as hearing,' she added, 'for it is quite as quick, when there is light enough. You know that, since you have talked with her.'
'Yes. But in the dark, how do you make her understand?'
'She can generally read what I say by laying her hand on my lips; but besides that, we have the deaf and dumb alphabet, and she can feel my fingers as I make the letters.'
'You have been with her a long time, I suppose,' Margaret said.
'Since she was three years old.'
'California is a beautiful country, isn't it?' asked Margaret after a pause.