one she was fond of! How often it has
lighted up at the unexpected sight of "Uncle Bob"! The mere
remembrance of that sweet illumination brightens my old age for me
now; and I could almost wish her back again, in my senile
selfishness and inconsistency. Pazienza!

Sometimes she was quite embarrassing in her simplicity, and reminded
me of her father.

Once in Dieppe--when she was about eight--she and I had gone through
the Etablissement to bathe, and people had stared at her even more
than usual and whispered to each other.

"I bet you don't know why they all stare so, Uncle Bob?"

"I give it up," said I.

"It's because I'm so _handsome_--we're _all_ handsome, you know, and
I'm the handsomest of the lot, it seems! _You_'re _not_ handsome,
Uncle Bob. But oh! aren't you _strong_! Why, you could tuck a
piou-piou under one arm and a postman under the other and walk up to
the castle with them and pitch them into the sea, _couldn't_ you?
And that's better than being handsome, _isn't_ it? I wish _I_ was
like that."

And here she cuddled and kissed my hand.

When Mary began to sing (under Signor R.) it was her custom of an
afternoon to lock herself up alone with a tuning-fork in a large
garret and practise, as she was shy of singing exercises before any
one else.

Her voice, even practising scales, would give Marty extraordinary
pleasure, and me, too. Marty and I have often sat outside and
listened to Mary's rich and fluent vocalizings; and I hoped that
Marty would develop a great voice also, as she was so like Mary in
face and disposition, except that Mary's eyes were blue and her hair
very black, and her health unexceptionable.

Marty did not develop a real voice, although she sang very prettily
and confidentially to me, and worked hard at the piano with Roberta;
she learned harmony and composed little songs, and wrote words to
them, and Mary or her father would sing them to her and make her
happy beyond description.

Happy! she was always happy during the first few years of her
life--from five or six to twelve.

I like to think her happiness was so great for this brief period,
that she had her full share of human felicity just as if she had
lived to the age of the Psalmist.

It seemed everybody's business at Marsfield to see that Marty had a
good time. This was an easy task, as she was so easy to amuse; and
when amused, herself so amusing to others.

As for me, it is hardly too much to say that every hour I