Nan was in some doubt as to whether
the strange girl liked her. Margaret often patted Nan's cheeks
and admired her smooth skin; but she never expressed any real
affection. She was positively the oddest little piece of
humanity Nan had ever met.
Once Nan asked her if she had a doll. "Doll?" snarled Margaret
with surprising energy. "A'nt Matildy give me one once't an' I
throwed it as far as I could inter the river, so I did! Nasty
thing! Its face was all painted and rough."
Nan could only gasp. Drown a doll-baby! Big girl as she
considered herself, she had a very tender spot in her heart for
doll-babies.
Margaret Llewellen only liked people with fair faces and smooth
complexions; she could not possibly be interested in old Toby
Vanderwiller, who seemed always to need a shave, and whose face,
like that of Margaret's grandfather, was "wizzled."
Nan ran down to him and asked: "Can't I help you, Mr.
Vanderwiller? Did you get badly hurt?"
"Hullo!" grunted Toby. "Ain't you Hen Sherwood's gal?"
"I'm his niece," she told him. "Can I help?"
"Well, I dunno. "I got a wallop from one o' them logs when we
was breakin' that jam, and it's scraped the skin off me arm----"
"Let me see," cried Nan, earnestly.
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