I tell you what, Thames," he added, flinging himself carelessly into a chair, "I'd give my right hand,—and that's no light offer for a carpenter's 'prentice,—if that little minx were half as fond of me as she is of you. I did not even know where to write and thank you. Clotilde’s stunning green eyes were reflected in the gazes of the tender young children, but their faces had been hollow and sunken, their hair matted, and their clothing in bad need of repair. Who but you would have dreamed of giving the boy such a name? Why, it's the name of a river, not a Christian. He allowed his irons and clothes to be taken off without resistance. Gina, the eleven year old, just couldn’t take it and she ran away.
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