"So're you," urged the gallant Sam. "You do, too, look like a princess, don't she, Joe?"
Joe glanced up shyly. "I've never seen a princess," he admitted, "but I think you do. I think you are beautiful. You are the most beautiful person I have ever seen."
Long years after, when time and fate had wrought many changes in their lives, Joe remembered the speech and thought no differently.
The little girl blushed and hung her head.
"You're a silly boy," she told him. "I don't look a bit like a princess. What makes you boys say such foolish things?"
Joe seldom said anything that he had not thought out pretty thoroughly, and he now puckered his forehead and searched for the reason in his mind that made this little girl seem different from any other he had ever seen.
"I guess," he began thoughtfully, "it's 'cause you're kind of different. You see we've always lived on the farm, and the folks we knew were just plain Friends, who didn't think much about dress or looks, just work and service, you know. But you—well—I dunno, I don't know how to say it—but you look like—like something out of the sky, or the air, or a book or something. Not like us—like you were meant for work and service, but kind o' like the birds and flowers an' the pretty things of life. I guess that's what Sam means when he says you look like a princess."
"W-ell, partly," admitted Sam. "Anyhow I'm going to call you 'Princess.'"
"I don't care what you call me," cried the little girl, with a smile that brought little sparkles into her eyes and made a dimple play hide-and-seek in either rose-hued cheek. Then turning again to Joe, "You're Quakers, aren't you?"
"Yes," he replied, "all our people have been Friends for generations back. Father was the founder of a sect where we lived."