placks and things. She is a tall, wapey lookin' woman and wears spectacles, and I don't spoze she sees much through them specks only her pictures, and works of Art, as she calls 'em. She don't seem to see her little girl hardly any, a sweet, pretty child, too, a gentle, quiet little thing with eyes that seem to be on the lookout for tender looks, and a sweet, sad mouth that seems sort o' grievin' for the kisses she don't git.
For sure as I am alive durin' them three days and two nights I wuz there I didn't see Celestine take one mite of notice of little Mary, only to hook up her dress once or twice and tie back her hair, and she did them in a kind of a absent-minded, dreamy way as if the child's waist might have been a distant range of mountains, and her hair a waterfall or runnin' stream. It wuz some such color, anyway, some of the color of water with the gold light of sunset burnin' on it, and it hung all round her sweet face in waves and ringlets. She wuz a dretful pretty child. And it seemed as if I couldn't keep my hands offen her, I wanted to hold her in my arms and pat down them shinin' tresses so. And it wuzn't more'n several minutes, anyway, till she wuz nestlin' up aginst me and I wuz holdin' her real fondly on my left side while Jack wuz hangin' round my right side. He didn't act jealous a mite, either, for he seemed to be jest as fond of little Mary as I wuz. They played together real good. And I held that child in my arms and looked down into the tender, confidin' little face, a sort of believin' face, jest the sort I like, and sez to myself:
"What under the sun can her Ma be thinkin' of to be makin' up fancy pictures and set so much store by 'em and slight the sweetest and prettiest livin' picture, all finished off perfect, right before her?" But Celestina
