a sad picture as that in her room? Perhaps it was some kinsman of
hers, who had been murdered by the savages in foreign parts, and
she kept it there for a remembrance." And Tom felt sad, and awed,
and turned to look at something else.

The next thing he saw, and that too puzzled him, was a washing-
stand, with ewers and basins, and soap and brushes, and towels, and
a large bath full of clean water--what a heap of things all for
washing! "She must be a very dirty lady," thought Tom, "by my
master's rule, to want as much scrubbing as all that. But she must
be very cunning to put the dirt out of the way so well afterwards,
for I don't see a speck about the room, not even on the very
towels."

And then, looking toward the bed, he saw that dirty lady, and held
his breath with astonishment.

Under the snow-white coverlet, upon the snow-white pillow, lay the
most beautiful little girl that Tom had ever seen. Her cheeks were
almost as white as the pillow, and her hair was like threads of
gold spread all about over the bed. She might have been as old as
Tom, or maybe a year or two older; but Tom did not think of that.
He thought only of her delicate skin and golden hair, and wondered
whether she was a real live person, or one of the wax dolls he had
seen in the shops. But when he saw her breathe, he made up his
mind that she was alive, and stood staring at her, as if she had
been an angel out of heaven.

No. She cannot be dirty. She never could have been dirty, thought
Tom to himself. And then he thought, "And are all people like that