Of English children this was a lovely specimen, and surely there are none lovelier in the world. Dorothea listened to her pretty tongue, and mused over her with a silent rapture. Her hair fell about her face like flakes of floss-silk, loose, and yellow as Indian corn; and her rosy cheeks were deeply dimpled. She was the only one of the Mortimers who was small for her years. She liked being nursed and petted, and while Dorothea smoothed out the fingers of her tiny gloves, the little fat hands, so soft and warm, occupied themselves with the contents of her work-box.
She was relating how Grand had invited them all to spend the day. "Papa brought the message, and they all wanted to go; and so—" she was saying, when John caught the sound of her little voice—"and so papa said, 'What! not one of you going to stay with your poor old father?'"—these words, evidently authentic, she repeated with the deepest pathos—"and so," she went on, "I said, 'I will.'" Then, after a pause for reflection, "That was kind of me, wasn't it?"
A few caresses followed.
Then catching sight of Emily's brooch, in which was a portrait of her child, little Nancy put the wide tulle cap-strings aside, and looked at it earnestly.
"I know who that is," she said, after bestowing a kiss on the baby's face.
"Do you, my sweet? who is it, then?"
"It's Freddy; he's gone to the happy land. It's full of little boys and girls. Grand's going soon," she added, with great cheerfulness. "Did you know? Grand says he hopes he shall go soon."
"How did Emily look?" asked Miss Christie, when John came home.
"Better than usual, I think," said John carelessly. "There's no bitterness in her sorrow, poor thing! She laughed several times at Nancy's childish talk."
"She looks a great deal too young and attractive to live alone," said
Miss Christie pointedly.