"It is—it is!—Miss Lucy, it is little Harry Bertram, as sure as God's sun is in that Heaven!"
"And this is my sister?" said Bertram, giving way to all that family affection which had so long slumbered in his bosom for want of an object to expand itself upon—
"It is—it is!—it is Miss Lucy Bertram, whom by my poor aid you will find perfect in the tongues of France, and Italy, and even of Spain—in reading and writing her vernacular tongue, and in arithmetic and book-keeping by double and single entry—I say nothing of her talents of shaping, and hemming, and governing a household, which, to give every one their due, she acquired not from me, but from the housekeeper—nor do I take merit for her performance upon stringed instruments, whereunto the instructions of an honourable young lady of virtue and modesty, and very facetious withal—Miss
