Her poor old face, framed in its calico kerchief, had a wrinkle of anxiety in it.

The tumbled ice heap in the street looked to her like an impassable barrier.

Tiny as she was, and loaded, she had reason to hesitate.

Perhaps she had eggs in her basket,--I thought of that as I looked at her across the street; and I thought of my old ambition to measure myself, shoulder to shoulder, with Leah, reputedly short.

I was small myself, and was constantly reminded of it by a variety of nicknames, lovingly or vengefully invented by my friends and enemies.