"Who can she be?" asked Kitty in a whisper.
"Some sort of foreigner,--French maybe, or perhaps Italian. She has
talked considerably since I gave her the broth; but I can't make out
a word she says. She spoke English when I first met her; but I don't
believe she knows much of it," said Dora thoughtfully.
"There is something sewed up in a little bag, and hung round her
neck," added she, "just such as some of our foreign volunteers
had,--a sort of charm, you know, to keep them from being struck by
the evil eye. That shows that her friends must have been
foreigners."
"Yes; and Catholics too, likely enough," said Kitty rather
contemptuously; adding, after a pause,--
"Well, you go down, and I'll sit by her a while. If she sleeps as
sound as this, I don't suppose I need stay a great while. There's
the supper-dishes to do."
"I'll wash them, of course; but, if you want to come down, you might
leave the door open at the head of the back stairs, and I should
hear if she called or cried. And, now I think of it, I have a letter
to show Karl and you. I got it at the post-office."
"From Mr. Brown?" asked Kitty quickly.
"No, from a Mr. Burroughs; a man I never heard of in my life till
to-day. But come down in a few minutes, and I will read it to you.
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