Little Jakey was indeed _little_ Jakey. I have often seen boys three
years old both taller and heavier; but never one more perfect in form
and feature. His little feet and hands might have belonged to a fairy.
His black eyes were bright and full, with long lashes and arched brows.
His long curls were blacker than the raven, and while holding him there
in my arms, I could think of nothing but a beautiful cherub with folded
wings, astray from heaven. After smoothing down his curls awhile, and
kissing him many times, I said to him,--
"Dear Jakey, pray where did you come from, and who brought you here?"