What a girl of sixteen cares for is hair and a high color and moonlight and a tenor voice. It was a charming sight to watch the motions of her tiny fingers as she pursued her task; and though the posture she adopted was not the most favourable that might have been chosen for the display of her sylphlike figure, there was something in her attitude, and the glow of her countenance, lighted up by the mellow radiance of the setting sun falling upon her through the panes of the little dormer-window, that seemed to the youth inexpressibly beautiful. I sit back now, letting life slip by and musing upon it; and I find my loneliness sweet. I tell you what, Thames," he added, flinging himself carelessly into a chair, "I'd give my right hand,—and that's no light offer for a carpenter's 'prentice,—if that little minx were half as fond of me as she is of you. For a time I didn't know we'd ever find you. Her hair is like, white blonde, but trust me, it’s not her natural color. He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. Though not much passed the middle term of life, he seemed prematurely stricken with old age. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. I have said good-bye to it all.
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