The doll, as I have said before, was "got up" wonderfully like its mistress.

It had a miniature coat and cape and frills, it had leggings, it had a white plush bonnet (so my wife enables me to affirm), it had hair just the colour of the little lady's locks.
As she crossed the bridge, she seemed much pleased by the running of the water beneath her feet, and saying, "Please let Dolly 'ook," in her pretty broken tones, she pushed her doll through the rustic work, holding it by its sash.

But, alas! the doll was heavy, and the sash insecurely fastened.

It gave way, and the doll plunged into the stream.
Once more the sweet little face was convulsed by a look of terror and distress.

As the doll floated out on the other side of the bridge, she shrieked and wrung her hands.