The sun and wind had changed her, too. They had taken the sparkle
from her eyes and left them a sober gray; they had taken the red
from her cheeks and lips, and they were gray also. She was thin
and gaunt, and never smiled now. When Dorothy, who was an orphan,
first came to her, Aunt Em had been so startled by the child's
laughter that she would scream and press her hand upon her heart
whenever Dorothy's merry voice reached her ears; and she still
looked at the little girl with wonder that she could find anything
to laugh at.
Uncle Henry never laughed. He worked hard from morning till
night and did not know what joy was. He was gray also, from his
long beard to his rough boots, and he looked stern and solemn,
and rarely spoke.
It was Toto that made Dorothy laugh, and saved her from
growing as gray as her other surroundings. Toto was not gray; he
was a little black dog, with long silky hair and small black eyes
that twinkled merrily on either side of his funny, wee nose. Toto
played all day long, and Dorothy played with him, and loved him dearly.
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