“And how is our other invalid, Harriet Lane?”
“She is better, father. Dear Harriet has been awfu’ bad. Did you guess, father, how bad she was?”
“No, my son: and I don’t think she was as bad as all that, for the doctor did not tell me so.”
“But she telled me her own self. She wouldn’t tell a lie, would Harriet.”
“Only, Ralph, when people are ill, they imagine they are much worse than they really are. That was the case with Harriet. She will be all right now in a day or two, and you can enjoy yourself as soon as possible.”
“Oh yes; oh yes!” said Ralph. He clasped one arm round his father’s neck. “Why has you got such a big brown neck?”
“Because, I suppose, I am a big brown man.”
“I love brown men ever so,” said Ralph.
“That is right.”
“And I love you best of all; and—and Harriet, and Robina. I has got three very great special friends—you, and Harriet, and Robina.”