' You'll call him
that, too, won't you? He likes it better."
"Yes; if you want me to, I will. But, say, what's your name?"
"Oh, mine's just Nellie, Nellie Westmore. Not very pretty, is it?"
"I think it is. Do you know that was my mother's name--Nellie, I mean, not
the other one."
"And do you remember your mother, Dan?"
"Only a little. She was good and pretty, just like you."
"Tell me about her, will you? I should like to hear."
And there in the quietness of that room Dan's tongue was unloosed, and in
his own simple way he told about his mother, her death, and how he and his
father had lived together in the little log shanty. Half an hour passed in
this quiet talk, and when at length Dan ceased Nellie glanced at the
clock.
"Why, I didn't think it was so late! It is time you were in bed. You must
be tired. Come, I will show you where you are to sleep to-night, and
to-morrow we will fix up a room for your very own."
Going to the kitchen Nellie lighted a small lamp, and with this in her
hand she and Dan went up the small winding stairway.
"This is the place," and she opened a door leading to a room at the north
of the house.
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