For all this, she was a picturesque little thing, even through whose childish timidity there was a certain self-sustained air which is apt to come upon children who are left much to themselves.

She was holding under her arm a rag doll, apparently of her own workmanship, and nearly as large as herself--a doll with a cylindrical head, and features roughly indicated with charcoal.

A long shawl, evidently belonging to a grown person, dropped from her shoulders and swept the floor.
The spectacle did not excite Mrs.Tretherick's delight.

Perhaps she had but a small sense of humor.

Certainly, when the child, still standing in the doorway, again asked, "Is it Mamma ?" she answered sharply, "No, it isn't," and turned a severe look upon the intruder.
The child retreated a step, and then, gaining courage with the distance, said in deliciously imperfect speech: "Dow 'way then! why don't you dow away ?" But Mrs.Tretherick was eying the shawl.