The Beautiful Lady

I knew how well my friend liked me, because he shook my hand with his head turned away. Then the grey glove of the beautiful lady touched my shoulder-the lightest touch in all the world -as I stood close to the carriage while Poor Jr. climbed in. "Good-bye. Thank you-and God bless you!" she said, in a low voice. And I knew for what she thanked me. The driver cracked his whip like an honest Neapolitan. The horses sprang forward. "Addio, addio!" I sang with the musicians, waving and waving and waving my handkerchief to the departing carriage. Now I saw my friend lean over and take the beautiful lady by the hand, and together they stood up in the carriage and waved their handkerchiefs to me. Then, but not because they had passed out of sight, I could see them not any longer. They were so good-that kind Poor Jr. and the beautiful lady; they seemed like dear children-as if they had been my own dear children.