"Stop a bit," she said, "I'll give the lady my card." She produced it from her pocket with an air, and Miss Abbey took the diminutive document, and found it to run thus:
Miss JENNY WREN.
Dolls' Dressmaker..
Dolls attended at their own residences.
So great were her amusement and astonishment, and so interested was she in the odd little creature that she at once asked:
"Did you ever taste shrub, child?"
Miss Wren shook her head.
"Should you like to?"
"Should if it's good," returned Miss Wren.
"You shall try. Put your little feet on the fender. It's a cold, cold night, and the fog clings so." As Miss Abbey helped her to turn her chair, her loosened bonnet fell on the floor. "Why, what lovely hair!" cried Miss Abbey. "And enough to make wigs: for all the dolls in the world. What a quantity!"
"Call that a quantity?" returned Miss Wren. "Poof! What do you say to the rest of it?" As she spoke, she untied a band, and the golden stream fell over herself, and over the chair, and flowed down to the ground. Miss Abbey's admiration seemed to increase her perplexity. She beckoned the Jew towards her, and whispered:
"Child or woman?"