ape and
frills, it had leggings, it had a white plush bonnet (so my wife
enables me to affirm), it had hair just the colour of the little
lady's locks.

As she crossed the bridge, she seemed much pleased by the running of
the water beneath her feet, and saying, "Please let Dolly 'ook," in
her pretty broken tones, she pushed her doll through the rustic work,
holding it by its sash. But, alas! the doll was heavy, and the sash
insecurely fastened. It gave way, and the doll plunged into the
stream.

Once more the sweet little face was convulsed by a look of terror and
distress. As the doll floated out on the other side of the bridge, she
shrieked and wrung her hands. As for me, I ran down to the edge of the
stream, calling Rubens after me, and pointing to the doll. Only too
glad of an excuse for a plunge, in he dashed, and soon brought the
unfortunate miss to shore by one of her gaitered legs. It was with
some triumph that I carried the dripping doll to its little mistress,
and heard the nurse admonish her to--

"Thank the young gentleman, my dear."

I have often since heard of faces "like an April sky," but I never saw
one which did so resemble it in being by turns bright and overcast,
with tears and smiles struggling together, and fear and pleased
recognition, as the face of the little blonde in the white beaver
bonnet. It was she who held out her hand this time, and as I took it
she said, "'ank you 'erry much."

"It was Rubens' doing, not mine," said I. "Rubens! shake hands, sir!"

But the little lady was frightened. She shrank away from the warm
greeting of Rubens, and I was obliged to shake hands with him myself
to satisfy his feelings.

The nursemaid had been wringing out the doll's clothes for the little
lady, but now they moved on together.

"Dood-bye!" said the little lady, smiling and waving her hand. I
waved mine, and then Jemima, having parted with the tinsmith, came up,
and we went home.

I never saw the beaver bonnets again.

CHAPTER XIII

POLLY--THE PEW AND THE PULPIT--THE FATE OF THE FLAT IRON

By the time that my father came to fetch us away, I was wonderfully
improved in health and strength. I even wanted to go back outside the
coach; but this was not allowed.

I did not forget the little lady in the white beaver, even after my
return to Dacrefield. I was fond of drawing, and I made what seemed to
me a rather striking portrait of her (at least as to colouring), and
wore it tied b