But, alas! the doll was heavy, and the sash
insecurely fastened. It gave way, and the doll plunged into the
stream.
Once more the sweet little face was convulsed by a look of terror and
distress. As the doll floated out on the other side of the bridge, she
shrieked and wrung her hands. As for me, I ran down to the edge of the
stream, calling Rubens after me, and pointing to the doll. Only too
glad of an excuse for a plunge, in he dashed, and soon brought the
unfortunate miss to shore by one of her gaitered legs. It was with
some triumph that I carried the dripping doll to its little mistress,
and heard the nurse admonish her to--
"Thank the young gentleman, my dear."
I have often since heard of faces "like an April sky," but I never saw
one which did so resemble it in being by turns bright and overcast,
with tears and smiles struggling together, and fear and pleased
recognition, as the face of the little blonde in the white beaver
bonnet. It was she who held out her hand this time, and as I took it
she said, "'ank you 'erry much."
"It was Rubens' doing, not mine," said I. "Rubens! shake hands, sir!"
But the little lady was frightened. She shrank away from the warm
greeting of Rubens, and I was obliged to shake hands with him myself
to satisfy his feelings.
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