But let me rather use the "little maid's" reckoning, and say that I have, rather than that I had, a sister.

"Her grave is green, it may be seen." She peeped into the world, and we called her Alice; then she went away again and took my mother with her.

It was my first great, bitter grief.
I remember well the day when I was led with much mysterious solemnity to see my new sister.

She was then a week old.
"You must be quiet, sir," said Mrs.Bundle, a new member of our establishment, "and not on no account make no noise to disturb your dear, pretty mamma." Repressed by this accumulation of negatives, as well as by the size and dignity of Mrs.Bundle's outward woman, I went a-tiptoe under her large shadow to see my new acquisition.
Very young children are not always pretty, but my sister was beautiful beyond the wont of babies.

It is an old simile, but she was like a beautiful painting of a cherub.