"I mean to, sir. Sara says I can if I will; she says the good God started me with a sound brain and a healthy body, and I ought to be able to do the rest."
"She does, eh?" opening his eyes surprisedly. "And who may this wise and epigrammatic Sara be, I'd like to know?"
Morton concluded to let the suspicious word go unchallenged. "Yes, sir, she is wise and good. She's been to school lots, and she's my oldest sister."
"Ah, indeed? That accounts for your unusually good English, I suppose. I had wondered at it here."
Morton felt this to be a compliment, so turned red and squirmed, not knowing just how to acknowledge it, and his friend, perhaps to relieve him, asked kindly, "How old is Sara?" having already decided she was nearing the thirties, at least.
"She's seventeen, sir."
"Is that all?" quickly. "Such a mere girl, and yet talks like a wise- acre, eh? How does she look?"
"Well, she's tall, and walks straight and proud-like, and her hair's kind of copper-colored where the sun shines on the waves in it, and her eyes are big and brown, and can drag a lie right out of you, sir; but when she laughs her teeth shine, and there's a dimple in one corner of her mouth, and she looks pretty well."
"H'm, I should think likely," said the young man in a musing tone, then, as Morton turned a sharp corner, "What, that way?"
"Yes, sir; there's Uncle Adam now, sitting on his bench smoking, and he looks good-natured; aren't you glad?"