As we came into these fields we met a man whose face seemed familiar, though I could not at first recall where I had seen him.

Afterwards I remembered that he was the tinsmith, and Jemima stayed to chat with him for a few minutes, but Rubens and I strolled on.
It seemed an odd coincidence that, a few seconds after meeting the tinsmith, I should meet the little white-beavered lady.

She was crossing the bridge.

Her sister was not with her, nor the donkey, nor the man-servant.

She was walking with a nurse, and she carried a big doll in her arms.