The things we do!

The baggage is forthwith ordered to be brought from the
carriages. The little invalid wrapped in his shawl is brought upstairs by
the affectionate Mr. Kuhn, who carries him as gently as if he had been
bred all his life to nurse babies. The smiling Sally (the Sally for the
time-being happens to be a very fresh pink-cheeked pretty little Sally)
emerges from the kitchen and introduces the young ladies, the governess,
the maids, to their apartments. The eldest, a slim black-haired young
lass of thirteen, frisks about the rooms, looks at all the pictures, runs
in and out of the verandah, tries the piano, and bursts out laughing at
its wheezy jingle (it had been poor Emma's piano, bought for her on her
seventeenth birthday, three weeks before she ran away with the ensign;
her music is still in the stand by it: the Rev. Charles Honeyman has
warbled sacred melodies over it, and Miss Honeyman considers it a
delightful instrument), kisses her languid little brother laid on the
sofa, and performs a hundred gay and agile motions suited to her age.


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