"You forget," said Ann, "that I'm nearly thirteen."
"God bless my soul," said Abner. "How time does fly!"
"Who is she?" asked Ann.
"It isn't a 'she,'" explained Abner. "It's a 'he.' Poor little chap lost his mother two years ago, and now his father's dead. I thought—it occurred to me we might put him up for a time. Look after him a bit. What do you think? It would make the house more lively, wouldn't it?"
"It might," said Ann.
She sat very silent, and Abner, whose conscience was troubling him, watched her a little anxiously. After a time she looked up.
"What's he like?" she asked.
"Precisely what I am wondering myself," confessed Abner. "We shall have to wait and see. But his mother—his mother," repeated Abner, "was the most beautiful woman I have ever known. If he is anything like she was as a girl———" He left the sentence unfinished.
"You have not seen her since—since she was young?" questioned Ann.
Abner shook his head. "She married an
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