“No: she went away just before I came; but I’ve always heard about her.”
“They say she was awful good,” said Pollio, spattering dough rather spitefully: “what did she do that was so nice?”
“Well, she went to meeting pretty steady, I guess, for one thing.”
“Poh, so does my mother: she goes every Sunday.”
“Quakers go oftener than that: they go every Thursday. They call Sunday First Day, and Thursday Fifth Day.”
“I’d like to go to Quaker meeting, ’cause my mother used to,” said Hop-clover thoughtfully.
“Well, perhaps you can: there will be meeting to-day, and all our folks will go but the hired men,” said Dorothy, going into the house with her empty bowl.
When Mrs. Littlefield heard of Hop-clover’s wish, she seemed pleased; and Pollio said at once that he and Posy wished to go too. He knew he could sit as still in church as anybody, not even excepting “Lucy-vindy’s” mother.
So they all went off together,—the eight good Quakers in drab, and the three little children in pink and blue. Hop-clover had the place of honor; for she walked between Mr. and Mrs. Littlefield, holding a hand of each. She looked too gay for a Quaker maiden; and so did Posy, for Posy wore a pink frock and pink stockings, and swung a pink parasol. She knew she was looking well, and that Pollio’s hat and jacket were nice; and I fear she tossed her head a little, as she whispered,—
“Don’t take hold of my hand, Pollio: it isn’t stylish!”