"It's like she broke somethin'," whimpered Freckles; "a bone yer know—her nose fallin' that way when she went over forrard."
"She ain't chany, I tell yer; she's jest Injy rubber," said Flibbertigibbet scornfully but with a note of anxiety in her voice. At this critical moment the Marchioness reappeared and jumped upon the seat. She had a curious affair in her hand; after placing it to her eyes, she signalled her answer:
"I can see them."
"See what?"
"The freckles."
"Wot's she givin' us?" Freckles asked in a perplexed voice.
"She's all right," said Flibbertigibbet with the confidence of superior knowledge; "it's a tel'scope; yer can see the moon through, an' yer freckles look to her as big as pie-plates."
Freckles crossed herself; it sounded like witches and it had a queer look.
"Ask her wot's her name," she suggested.
"What's your name?" Flibbertigibbet repeated on her fingers.