“She had black curls. Oh, I remember her so well! She used to say thee and thou to me sometimes, just as you do.”
“Ah! that was our Lucinda! I’m so glad I have found her little girl!” said the Quaker, walking about the room, then stooping to kiss Hop-clover again.
“How would thee like to ride with me to my house this afternoon for a visit?”
Hop-clover looked at the carpet as if a star had fallen out of the sky at her feet. She never once thought of her gown; though it had stains and grease-spots, and a hole under each arm. She forgot her leaky shoes, and her coarse old shawl. What did she care about her clothes if for once in her life she could take a ride out of town!
She threw back her hat with such a look of delight, that Nunky drew a hasty picture of her, as he stood in the door with sketch-book and pencil in his hand. Everybody was glad for Hop-clover—I mean everybody but the twins.
“I tell you it’s mean,” said the injured Pollio to his injured sister, as they stole out of the room, and stood in the front-hall, with their arms around each other’s waists, “asking her to go instead of us!”
“So I think! If the cow did eat up my white dresses, how did he know I wasn’t a-going to go in my blue dress that the cow didn’t eat!”
“That’s so, Posy! And how’d he know I wouldn’t go? Mamma never said ‘no’ about that; for the cow didn’t eat up my clothes, ’cept my handkerjiff with ships in the corner.”
The good Quaker would have been quite surprised if he had overheard these remarks, for he had no idea of leaving his little pets behind. What he called his “chaise” was a large, handsome carriage with two seats; and, when the children were snuggled into it that afternoon, Pollio declared there was room enough for three more and the dog.