"Have you noticed, Toby"--my grandfather also was a Theobald--"how tall
she grows? And how she sways in walking like a poplar tree? She has my
complexion before it ran in streaks, and my hair before it faded, and
my eyes before they were dim. She has the carriage of the head which
made them call me the Swan of Dunclody. She will be fifteen come
Michaelmas, and she shall have my pearls for her neck."
I heard her in an excessive surprise. My grandmother had been esteemed a
great beauty in her day and had been sung by the ballad-singers. Was it
possible that my looks could be like hers? I had not thought about them
hitherto any more than my cousin had about his. It was with almost a
sense of relief that I heard my grandfather's reply.
"The child is well enough," he said, "but as for being so like you, that
she is not, nor ever will have your share of beauty. As for your spoilt
roses I do not see them, nor the dimmed eyes, nor the faded hair. You
were lovely when I saw you first, and you are no less lovely in my sight
to-day."
"In your sight--at seventy!" my grandmother said; and I could picture to
myself the well-pleased expression of her dear face.
As for my Uncle Luke, of him I have but a dim memory, yet it is of
something bonny.
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