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Words: 90708 in 52 pages
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is scene was taking place, formed the domestic establishment of the Chester family.
"No, father, I'm not asleep," cried Sally, as she ran.
Sally was only five years of age, and was such a mite of a child that she might have been no age at all. Waking suddenly, she had scrambled out of bed on hearing her father's voice.
"You parcel of bones!" exclaimed Mr. Chester, with rough tenderness, lifting the child in his arms. "What have you been up to again?"
"I fainted dead away, father!" replied Sally, gleefully; "dead away!"
The proud tone in which, in her thin shrill voice, she made this evidently familiar statement respecting herself was very remarkable.
"Why, Sally, you're always at it!"
"Yes, father," said Sally, with a triumphant laugh.
"But," said Mr. Chester, "if you go on fainting away like this, Sally, one of these days you'll faint so dead away that you'll never come to again."
This conveyed no terrors to Sally's mind, for she clapped her bony hands in delight at the idea. She stopped in the midst of her clapping, and struggling out of her father's arms, ran to the sleeping child, and gazed earnestly at the pretty face. Following Sally's movements, Mr. and Mrs. Chester saw for the first time that the man who had intruded upon them was not alone.
The two children presented a notable contrast. Sally had not a spare ounce of flesh upon her body; the newcomer was plump, and her limbs were well proportioned. Sally was dark and sallow; the newcomer was fair, and despite her weariness, there were roses in her cheeks. Sally's hair was black, and hung straight in lank disorder about her forehead; the newcomer's hair was flaxen, and hung about her forehead in naturally-graceful curls. She was like one of Raphael's angels, fresh from heaven; Sally was like an elf from dark woods.
Sally gazed upon the sleeping girl in solemn wonder and admiration, and presently put forward one of her fingers and touched the rosy cheek--drawing it quickly back, as though it were a presumptuous thing to do. Again she stretched forth her hand, and played with the flaxen curls. Then, emboldened by success, Sally wetted her forefinger on her tongue, and rubbed it softly up and down over the roses in the sleeping child's face. That, when she looked at her finger after this operation, there was no red upon it, was evidently a puzzle to Sally. Her next proceeding was to take the sleeping child's plump hand in her bony one, and make an examination of the fat little fingers, separating them one by one, and curiously comparing them with her own. While thus employed Sally happened to glance up at the man, and, meeting his eyes, her arm stole round the sleeping child's neck. The next moment Sally was sitting on the floor, nursing the new little girl on her lap.
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