She shook back her fair, soft curls, as golden as a baby’s still, though Conn was fourteen, and, putting a little shawl over her shoulders, peeped out of the open window--as pretty a little slip of a girl as you would care to see--and looked down on the face, half-boyish, half-manly, which was upturned to her. If Jack had been her brother, perhaps she would have scolded at him; for Conn loved her morning nap, and the general din had discomposed her, no doubt. But Jack was only her cousin, and her second cousin, at that,--and it’s curious what a difference that does make. Your brother’s your brother all the days of his life; but your cousin is another affair, and far less certain. So Conn said, quite gently,--
“What is it? Can I do any thing? But I’m sure I don’t want to help you make any more noise. This has been--oh, really dreadful!”
She spoke with a droll little fine-lady air, and put her pretty little fingers to her pretty little ears. And Jack laughed; he had not begun to think of her yet as a charming girl,--she was just Cousin Conn.
“What!” he cried. “Not like noise on Fourth of July? Why, you don’t deserve to have a country.”
“I’m sure I wish I hadn’t,” said Conn, with a little dash of spirit.
“Are you dressed?” cried the boy, nearly seventeen years old, but all a boy still.
“Well, just hurry, then, and come down. I’m off in half an hour with the Brighton Blues, and I want you to see first how this pistol works.”
High honor this, that she, a girl, should be invited to inspect the wonderful pistol!
Conn began to dress hurriedly. What should she put on? Her white dress hung in the closet,--such a white dress as girls wore then,--all delicate ruffles, and with a blue ribbon sash, as dainty-fine as possible. She knew that was meant for afternoon, when Aunt Sarah would have company. But might she not put it on now? Perhaps Jack wouldn’t be here then, and she could be careful. So she slipped into the dainty gown, and fastened hooks and buttons in nervous haste, and then looked in the glass, as every other girl that ever lived would have done in her place.
It was a bright, fair face that she saw there--all pink and white, and with those violet eyes over which the long lashes drooped, and that soft, bright hair that lay in little rings and ripples round her white forehead, and hung a wavy mass down to the slender waist which the blue ribbon girdled. Conn was pleased, no doubt, with the sight she saw in the mirror,--how could she help being? She tripped downstairs, and out of the door. Jack whistled when he saw her.