"Is it?" returned the boy doubtfully, and surveying me with his arm held out above his burning eyes. "She looks to me the t'other one. It ain't the bonnet, nor yet it ain't the gownd, but she looks to me the t'other one."
My little Charley, with her premature experience of illness and trouble, had pulled off her bonnet and shawl and now went quietly up to him with a chair and sat him down in it like an old sick nurse. Except that no such attendant could have shown him Charley's youthful face, which seemed to engage his confidence.
"I say!" said the boy. "YOU tell me. Ain't the lady the t'other lady?"

"Is it?" returned the boy, surveying me doubtfully. "She looks to me the t'other one. It ain't the bonnet, nor yet the gown, but she looks to me the t'other one."
My little Charley had pulled off her bonnet and shawl and now went quietly up to him and sat him down in a chair like an old nurse.
"I say!" said the boy. "Ain't the lady the t'other lady?"
