"Then asters," she called.
"A fair picture," said Schmidt, "the mother and daughter, the bud and the rose. You know the bluets folks hereabouts call the Quaker ladies,—oh, I spoke of this before,—pretty, but it sufficeth not. Some sweet vanity did contrive those Quaker garments."
It was in fact a fair picture. The girl stood, a gray figure in soft Eastern stuffs brought home by our ships. One arm was about the mother's waist, and with the other she caught back the hair a playful breeze blew forward to caress the changeful roses of her cheek.
"I must get me a net, mother, such as the President wore one First Day at Christ Church."
"Thou must have been piously attending to thy prayers," returned Mrs. Swanwick, smiling.
"Oh, but how could I help seeing?"
"It is to keep the powder off his velvet coat, my dear. When thou art powdered again, we must have a net."
"Oh, mother!" It was still a sore subject.
"I should like to have seen thee, child."
"Oh, the naughty mother! I shall tell of thee. Ah, here is a pin in sight. Let me hide it, mother."