Nan's nurse was a cherry-cheeked old woman of between sixty and seventy years of age.
"Eh, my darling, and how did you get back without me hearing the sound of the carriage wheels!" she exclaimed. "Eh dear, eh dear, I meant to be down on the front steps to greet you, Miss Nan. Eh, but you look bonny, and let me examine your hair, dear—I hope they cut the points regular. If they don't, it will break away and not keep even."
"Oh, don't bother about my hair now," said Nan. "What does hair signify when a child has just got home, and when she wants a kiss more than anything else in the world? Now, nursey, sit down in that low armchair and let us have a real hug. That's better; and how are you? You look as jolly as ever."
"So I am, my pet; I'm as happy as the day is long since Miss Hetty has come home and took the housekeeping over. I was in a mortal fret before, with her at school and you at school, but now I think the danger is past."
"What danger?" asked Nan; "you always were a dear old croak, you know, nurse."
"Yes, pet, perhaps so; but I didn't fret without reason, you may be quite sure of that."
"Well, what were you afraid of? You know I'm an awfully curious girl, so you must tell me."
"It's a sin to be too curious, Miss Nan—it leads people into untold mischief. Curiosity was the sin of Eve, and it's best to nip it in the bud while you're young. Now let me brush out your hair, my darling, and get you ready for supper."
"Yes, in a minute," said Nan. She pushed back the shady hat in which she had traveled, and seated herself afresh on her nurse's knee.