"I want Lloyd to see some of those wonderful music boxes they make here; the dancing bears, and the musical hand-mirrors; the chairs that play when you sit down in them, and the beer-mugs that begin a tune when you lift them up." Lloyd's face dimpled with pleasure, and she began to ask eager questions.
"Couldn't we take one to Mom Beck, mothah?
A lookin'-glass that would play 'Kingdom Comin', when she picked it up?
It would surprise her so she would think it was bewitched, and she'd shriek the way she does when a cattapillah gets on her." Lloyd laughed so heartily at the recollection, that an old gentleman sitting at an opposite table smiled in sympathy.

He had been watching the child ever since she came into the dining-room, interested in every look and gesture.

He was a dignified old French soldier, tall and broad-shouldered, with gray hair and a fierce-looking gray moustache drooping heavily over his mouth.

But the eyes under his shaggy brows were so kind and gentle that the shyest child or the sorriest waif of a stray dog would claim him for a friend at first glance.
The Little Colonel was so busy watching the scene from the window that she did not see him until he had finished his breakfast and rose from the table.

As he came toward them on his way to the door, she whispered, "Look, mothah! He has only one arm, like grandfathah.