“Why，yes。Didyoubringyourbigdoll？“askedDaisy，hopingshehad，foronthelastvisitNanhadravagedthebabyhouse，andinsistedonwashingBlancheMatilda’splasterface，whichspoiltthepoordear’scomplexionforever。
“Yes，she’ssomewhereround，“returnedNan，withmostunmaternalcarelessness。
“Imadeyouaringcomingalong，andpulledthehairsoutofDobbin’stail。
Don’tyouwantit？“andNanpresentedahorse-hairringintokenoffriendship，astheyhadbothvowedtheywouldneverspeaktooneanotheragainwhentheylastparted。
Wonbythebeautyoftheoffering，Daisygrewmorecordial，andproposedretiringtothenursery，butNansaid，“No，Iwanttoseetheboys，andthebarn，“andranoff，swingingherhatbyonestringtillitbroke，whensheleftittoitsfateonthegrass。