She ought to have been kept in tissue-paper, like the
loveliest of wax dolls. Her hair was the true flaxen, the very fairest
of the fair. The purity and vividness of the tints of red and white in
her face I have never seen equalled. Her eyes were of speedwell blue,
and looked as if they were meant to be always more or less brimming
with tears. To say the truth, her face had not half the character
which gave force to that of the other little damsel, but a certain
helplessness about it gave it a peculiar charm. She was dressed
exactly like the other, with one exception; her bonnet was of white
beaver, and she became it like a queen.
At the tinsmith's door they stopped, and the old man-servant, after
unbuckling a strap which seemed to support them in their saddle,
lifted each little miss in turn to the ground. Once on the pavement,
the little lady of the grey beaver shook herself out, and proceeded to
straighten the disarranged overcoat of her companion, and then, taking
her by the hand, the two clambered up the step into the shop. The
tinsmith's shop boasted of two seats, and on to one of these she of
the grey beaver with some difficulty climbed. The eyes of the other
were fast filling with tears, when from her lofty perch the sister
caught sight of the man-servant, who stood in the doorway, and she
beckoned him with a wave of her tiny finger.
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