"Are they? I said they were dears—didn't I? If they were my dears, I'd keep them in a parlor, and let them lie on a silk quilt with a velvet pillow—wouldn't you?"
"This little girl reminds me strikingly of my old friend Prudy," said Major Lazelle, taking her hand. "When I saw her across the table I thought, 'Ah, now, there is a sweet little child who makes me remember something pleasant.' After a while I knew what that pleasant thing was—it was little Prudy."
Dotty looked up at Major Lazelle with a smile.
"She came to see me when I was in a hospital in Indiana. At that time I was blind."
"Blind, sir?"
"Yes; but I see quite well now. Afterwards I met your sister on the street in Portland, and she spoke to me. I was very weak and miserable, for I had just been ill of a fever; but the sight of her bright face made me feel strong again."
Dotty's fingers closed around Major Lazelle's with a firmer clasp. If he liked Prudy, then she should certainly like him.
"Shall I tell you of some verses I repeated to myself when I looked at your dear little sister?"
"Yes, sir, if you please."
"'Why, a stranger, when he sees her
In the street even, smileth stilly,
Just as you would at a lily.