I saw Miss Murdstone lay her beads down. 'I declare,' said my mother, gently, 'they are exactly alike. I suppose they are mine. I think they are the colour of mine. But they are wonderfully alike.' 'What are you talking about, Clara?' said Miss Murdstone. 'My dear Jane,' faltered my mother, a little abashed by the harsh tone of this inquiry, 'I find that the baby's eyes and Davy's are exactly alike.' 'Clara!' said Miss Murd...
