"Ah, see what a pretty picture they make!" Mildred exclaimed, glancing in the direction of another, at some little distance, in whose shade Aunt Chloe was seated upon the grass with Elsie in her lap, both busied with the flowers they had been gathering.
"Yes," said Mr. Dinsmore; "and what a striking contrast! the child so young, and delicately fair, the nurse so black and elderly; she seems much attached to her charge."
"Yes, indeed! You do not think of separating them, uncle?"
"Certainly not! why should I?"
Mildred answered only with a pleased look, for at that moment little Elsie left her mammy and came running with a lovely bouquet in each hand.
"One for you, grandpa, and one for Cousin Milly," she said, dropping a graceful little courtesy as she presented them.
"Thank you, dear; how pretty they are!" Mildred said, kissing her.
"Humph! what shall I do with it?" Mr. Dinsmore asked, accepting his.
"Put it in your buttonhole," said the child. "That's the way uncle does."
"Uncle? who is he? You have none that you ever saw, so far as I know."