She had grown tall, but was very slim and full of grace in every movement. Her hair still held its sunny tint, and even if combed as straight as possible, soon fell into waves and curling tendrils, and her complexion was radiant in pearl and rose.
Rachel was quite a young woman, with a thin, muslin Quaker cap over her brown hair, and not the slightest attempt at ornament; a great worker and very thrifty in her methods. In her opinion idleness was a sin. Faith had grown tall, but was not as robust.
Primrose was like a sudden sunbeam in the old house. Her merry laugh rippled everywhere. As of old, every animal on the place made friends with her. And though Uncle James looked stern and sour at times, she would not heed his frowns.
Not only Andrew, but Penn, acknowledged her witching sway. She could ride finely now on horseback or with a pillion, and the cunning little beauty persuaded one or the other to take her out on numerous excursions.
"One could envy thee heartily," declared Faith. "For when Rachel and I desire any recreation or to go of some errand, there are a thousand excuses. What coaxing art hast thou? And how dost thou come by so much prettiness? Was it on thy mother's side?"
"Am I so pretty?" She laughed in a gay, amused fashion. "Sometimes Patty says I shall grow old and yellow and wrinkled, but though Aunt Wetherill's hair is snowy-white, and there are tiny marks and creases in her skin, she is not yellow nor cross, and looks like the most beautiful of queens in her brocades and satins."
"But what is a queen if there are no thrones here in America?"
"Oh, how dull thou art! It is because we call anyone a queen who is a beautiful and dignified woman, and can receive with graciousness, and hold a little court about her."
"But the fine clothes are vain and wicked. And—and plaiting of the hair, and the much pleasuring—and the giddy talk——"
The small Quakeress paused with a sort of longing and envy that she could think of no more sins.