Jerry was doing him good.

There was something very soothing in the touch of the little warm hands he held in his, and something puzzling and fascinating, too, in the face of the child.

He did not think of a likeness to any one; he only knew that he felt drawn toward her in a most unaccountable manner, and found himself wondering greatly who she was.
'Harold told me there were pictures and marble people up here with nothing on, and everything, and that's why I comed--that and to bring you some cherries.

I like pictures.

Can I see them ?' Jerry said.
'Yes, you shall see them,' Arthur replied; and he led her into the room where Gretchen's picture looked at them from the window.
'Oh, my!' Jerry exclaimed, with bated breath, 'Ain't she lovely! Is she God's sister ?' and folding her hands together, she stood before the picture as reverently as a devout Catholic stands before a Madonna.
It was some time since Jerry had spoken a word of German, but as she stood before Gretchen's picture old memories seemed to revive, and with them the German word for _pretty_, which she involuntarily spoke aloud.
Low as was the utterance, it caught Arthur's ear, and grasping her shoulder, he said: 'What was that?
What did you say, and where did you learn it ?' His manner frightened her; perhaps the bumble-bees were coming out, and she drew back from him, forgetting entirely what she had said.
'It was a German word,' he continued, 'and the accent is German, too; can you speak it.' Unconsciously as he talked, he dropped into that language, and Jerry listened intently, with a strained look on her face, as if trying to recall something which came and went, but went more than it came, if that could be.
'I talked that once,' she said, 'when I lived with mamma; but she is dead.