“Ah, are you there, Bertie?” queried Ronald, turning his head to look at the speaker. “I thought you were playing with your dog.”
“I was, but he’s run off, and now I’d like a story.”
“Well, what is it you want to hear?”
“Everything.”
“Not all at once?” questioned Ronald, with amusement, stroking the child’s head with his pale hand. “But something you shall hear, now while we are all together,” he added. “I will tell you about the battle fought close to the house where Mrs. Jasper and her father and mother lived; though she was not Mrs. Jasper then, but Mrs. Golding, a very young, very pretty widow with one child, a little boy.”
“Was that where you got shooted?” asked Bertie.
“That was the time and place where and when I received a wound that nearly cost me my life, and I shall never forget the doctor’s kindness to me or the motherly care of the old lady; no, nor how good her daughter was to me and the other poor fellows. I don’t wonder Dr. Jasper fell in love with her.
“I want you two to become acquainted,” he added, addressing Miriam; “you are both so handsome and so nice, though as unlike as possible in character and in looks, that I think you can’t help liking each other very much indeed.”
“Yes; perhaps we shall fancy each other all the more for our lack of resemblance,” responded Miriam, with a quiet smile. “Suppose you describe her to us.”
“I will. Instead of your fair skin and dark blue eyes, she has brown eyes and a brunette complexion. You are quick and sprightly in your movements and your talk and are full of energy. She hasn’t a bit of that, but talks and moves with a sort of languishing grace that is charming in her, but would not suit me in my sister. I am very proud of you, Miriam, and would not have you changed from what you are in any respect,” he added, regarding her with eyes that were full of fraternal pride and affection.