And then it swooped down upon her, and the image in the glass became a confusion of small naked arms and legs mingled with green cotton gloves and purple bonnet strings.
"You young imp of Satan!" demanded Mrs.Munday--her feelings of outraged virtue exaggerating perhaps her real sentiments.

"What are you doing ?" "Go away.

I'se looking at myself," had explained Joan, struggling furiously to regain the glass.
"But where are your clothes ?" was Mrs.Munday's wonder.
"I'se tooked them off," explained Joan.

A piece of information that really, all things considered, seemed unnecessary.
"But can't you see yourself, you wicked child, without stripping yourself as naked as you were born ?" "No," maintained Joan stoutly.

"I hate clothes." As a matter of fact she didn't, even in those early days.