Somewhat reassured to find a very decided ridge
where her companion's nose was wanting in the line of beauty,
she answered in her turn —
"It's no such thing, Nancy! you oughtn't to say so; you know
better."
"I _don't_ know better! I _ought_ to say so!" replied the other,
furiously. "If I had your nose, I'd be glad to have it freeze
off; I'd a sight rather have none. I'd pull it every day, if I
was you, to make it grow."
"I shall believe what Aunt Fortune said of you was true," said
Ellen. She had coloured very high, but she added no more, and
walked on in dignified silence. Nancy stalked before her in
silence that was meant to be dignified too, though it had not
exactly that air. By degrees each cooled down, and Nancy was
trying to find out what Miss Fortune had said of her, when on
the edge of the next field they met the brook again. After
running a long way to the right, it had swept round, and here
was flowing gently in the opposite direction. But how were
they ever to cross it? The brook ran in a smooth current
between them and a rising bank on the other side, so high as
to prevent their seeing what lay beyond. There were no
stepping-stones now. The only thing that looked like a bridge
was an old log that had fallen across the brook, or perhaps
had at some time or other been put there on purpose; and that
lay more than half in the water; what remained of its surface
was green with moss and slippery with slime.
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