Their clothing was not so warm, however, but that their noses looked red and pinched and their small figures shrunken as the boy walked up and down nursing and hushing the child with its head on his shoulder.
"Who has locked you up here alone ?" we naturally asked.
"Charley," said the boy, standing still to gaze at us.
"Is Charley your brother ?" "No.

She's my sister, Charlotte.

Father called her Charley." "Are there any more of you besides Charley ?" "Me," said the boy, "and Emma," patting the limp bonnet of the child he was nursing.

"And Charley." "Where is Charley now ?" "Out a-washing," said the boy, beginning to walk up and down again and taking the nankeen bonnet much too near the bedstead by trying to gaze at us at the same time.
We were looking at one another and at these two children when there came into the room a very little girl, childish in figure but shrewd and older-looking in the face--pretty-faced too--wearing a womanly sort of bonnet much too large for her and drying her bare arms on a womanly sort of apron.

Her fingers were white and wrinkled with washing, and the soap-suds were yet smoking which she wiped off her arms.