his newly-discovered cousin. She was Underwood all over in his eyes,
used to the characteristic family features, although entirely devoid
of that delicacy and refinement of form and complexion that was so
remarkable in himself and in most of his children, who were all,
except poor little Cherry, a good deal alike, and most of them
handsome. There was a sort of clumsiness in the shape of every
outline, and a coarseness in the colouring, that made her like a bad
drawing of one of his own girls; the eyes were larger, the red of the
cheeks was redder, the lips were thicker, the teeth were irregular;
the figure, instead of being what the French call elance, was
short, high-shouldered, and thick-set, and the head looked too large.
She was over-dressed, too, with a smart hat and spangled feather, a
womanly silk mantle and much-trimmed skirt, from which a heavy
quilling had detached itself, and was trailing on the ground; her
hands were ungloved, and showed red stumpy fingers, but her face had
a bright open honest heartiness of expression, and a sort of resolute
straightforwardness, that attracted and pleased him; and, moreover,
there was something in the family likeness, grotesque as it was, that
could not but arouse a fellow-feeling in his warm and open heart,
which neither neglect nor misfortune had ever chilled.

'I think I should have known you,' he said, smiling. 'Here! let me
introduce you; here is our little lame white-hearted Cherry, and the
twins, as like as two peas. Wilmet, Alda--here!'

'Shall I mend your frock!' was Wilmet's first greeting, as she put
her hand in her pocket, and produced a little housewife.

'Oh, thank you! You've got a needle and thread! What fun!'