And he—oh, how black he was! but as clean and neatly dressed as soap and water and nice clothes could make him, for Juliet, his mother, loved her little son, and she took good care that his manners were as nice as his clothes. He held out his hand to Charley, and, making a queer little bow, said, "How do you do, sir? I hope you are very well." Then he twisted one leg tighter than ever round the other, and gave a vigorous twirl to his paper windmill.
"Hey! I like that," said Charley. "Let me try to do it."
"Oh yes," said the other, "but this is the best way—to hold it straight out, and run fast."
So Charley took the windmill, and both boys went scampering and galloping round the room, the windmill flying round famously, until the boys were quite out of breath.
"What's your name?" asked Charley, as they were resting together in a large old rocking-chair.
"George Washington Johnson. What's your name?"' asked the black boy, in return, rocking the chair as hard as he could.
"My name is Charley Lee. I like you. Will you be my friend?"
"Oh yes; will you be mine?"
"Yes, and we'll play together every single day."
Just then Juliet went away with a great basket of clothes, to hang them up in a room where they were quickly dried by steam; and Charley, taking George's hand, said, "Come up stairs with me, and take a ride in the elevator."