His dress betrayed that, being dusty and threadbare, his shoes much worn, and his possessions contained in the little bundle on which he pillowed his head.

He was sleeping like one quite spent with weariness, and never stirred, though Hester bent away the ferns and examined him closely.
"He's not dead, my deary; he's asleep, poor lad, worn out with his day's tramp, I dare say." "I'm glad he's alive, and I wish he'd wake up.

He's a pretty boy, isn't he?
See what nice hands he's got, and his hair is more curly than mine.

Make him open his eyes, Hester," commanded the little lady, whose fear had given place to interest.
"Hush, he's stirring.

I wonder how he got in, and what he wants," whispered Hester.
"I'll ask him," and before her nurse could arrest her, Lillian drew a tall fern softly over the sleeper's face, laughing aloud as she did so.
The boy woke at the sound, and without stirring lay looking up at the lovely little face bent over him, as if still in a dream.
"_Bella cara_," he said, in a musical voice.