"A man's morning star, indeed! and by 'a man' is meant your worshipful self, I suppose? Come, drink your new milk while it is warm."
The young cripple rose and limped towards the fire; he had left his crutch near the mantelpiece.
"My poor lame darling!" murmured Shirley, in her softest voice, aiding him.
"Whether do you like me or Mr. Sam Wynne best, Shirley?" inquired the boy, as she settled him in an arm-chair.
"O Harry, Sam Wynne is my aversion; you are my pet."
"Me or Mr. Malone?"

"A man's morning star, indeed! and by 'a man' is meant your worshipful self, I suppose? Come, drink your milk."
He rose and limped towards the fire.
"My poor lame darling!" murmured Shirley, in her softest voice.
"Do you like me or Mr. Sam Wynne best, Shirley?" inquired the boy, as she settled him in an arm-chair.
"O Harry, Sam Wynne is my aversion; you are my pet."
"Me or Mr. Malone?"
