"Oh!" said Ellen, with a look of horror, "how can she do so!" "Oh, she don't care," said the other; "she sees my nose freeze off every winter, and it don't make no difference." "Freeze your nose off!" said Ellen. "To be sure," said the other, nodding gravely — "every winter; it grows out again when the warm weather comes." "And is that the reason why it is so little?" said Ellen, innocently, and with great curiosity. "Little!" said the other, crimsoning in a fury — "what do you mean by that? it's as big as yours any day, I can tell you." Ellen involuntarily put her hand to her face, to see if Nancy spoke true. 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. Ellen was sadly afraid to trust herself on it; but what to do? Nancy soon settled the question, as far as she was concerned. Pulling off her thick shoes, she ran fearlessly upon the rude bridge; her clinging bare feet carried her safely over, and Ellen soon saw her re-shoeing herself in triumph on the opposite side; but thus left behind and alone, her own difficulty increased. "Pull off your shoes, and do as I did," said Nancy. "I can't," said Ellen; "I'm afraid of wetting my feet; I know mama wouldn't let me." "Afraid of wetting your feet!" said the other; "what a chickaninny you are! Well, if you try to come over with your shoes on, you'll fall in, I tell you; and then you'll wet more than your feet. But come along somehow, for I won't stand waiting here much longer."