"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.