"Naughty girl! naughty girl! I don't want her to come back!" and he took a piece of string out of his pocket, and kept slashing it against his sleeve as he spoke.
Suddenly, in the midst of his temper, he caught sight of me.
"Nasty doll!" he cried; "we should never have quarrelled if it hadn't been for you! You shall be a boy," he added, sternly; "for I'll cut all your hair off!"
A shudder went through me. Unfortunately the nursery scissors were lying on the table—he took them up, and in a minute it was done. Clip, clip, went the scissors, as if they were pleased, and nearly the whole of my flaxen curls lay scattered on the floor. How I looked I don't know, but I think Bertie was a little frightened when he saw what he had done. I don't think he was anxious for his sister to see me, so he jumped up on the fender and put me on top of the mantel-piece.
Here I lay, with my feet dangling down off the side, about as uncomfortable as a doll could be. Nearly all my hair was cut short, my hat had fallen off in the fray, and I found myself in a position of much discomfort, and even danger. I could see nothing that went on in the room, and the heat of the stove was fast melting my beautiful complexion. I tried to look like a Princess, but it was hard.
The nursery-door opened, and the little girl came back. In a minute she ran up to the chair where she had left me, and then looked at her brother.
"Where's dolly?" she cried, and she looked anxiously round.
"I shan't tell you," said Bertie, beginning to look frightened.
"Oh, dolly, dolly; where is my dolly?" cried the little girl, and how I longed for a voice that could answer her. I could hear her going all round the room, pulling open drawers and cupboards, and hunting for me, but I never said a word.
Suddenly I heard a cry. She had come to the hearth-rug, where lay the scissors, and nearly all my beautiful flaxen curls on the floor.