She gathered up her long skirt and stepped grandly across the bare floor of the attic. As she stood by the window a boyish whistle floated up to her. She leaned over the narrow sill and peered through the evergreen trees at the road.
"That's David now, I bet! Sounds like his whistle. Oo-oo, David," she called as the boy came swinging down the road.
He turned in at the gate and looked around.
"Whew," he whistled as he glanced up and saw her at the little window of the attic. "What you doing up there?"
"Playin' primer donner. I just look something grand. Wait, I'll come down."
"Sure, come on down and let me see you. I'm going to hang around a while. Mom's here quilting, ain't she?"
"Sh!" Phœbe raised a warning finger, then placed her hands to her mouth to shut the sound of her voice from the people in the gray house. "You sneak round to the kitchen door, to the back one, so they can't hear you, and I'll come down. Aunt Maria mightn't like my hair and dress, and I don't want to make her cross on my birthday. Be careful, don't make no noise."
"Ha," laughed the boy. "Bet you're sneaking things, you little rascal."
Phœbe lifted her finger, shook her head, then smiled and turned from the window. She tiptoed down the dark attic stairs, then down the narrow back stairs to the kitchen and slipped quietly to the little porch at the very rear of the house.
"Gee whiz!" exclaimed David. "You're a swell in that dress!"
"Ain't I--I mean am I--ach, David, it's hard sometimes to talk like Miss Lee says we should."
"Up in the garret. Aunt Maria said I dare go up and play 'cause it's my birthday."
"Hold on, that's just what I came for, to pull your ears."
"No you don't," she said crossly. "No you don't, David Eby, pull my ears." She clapped a hand upon each ear.
"Then I'll pull a curl," he said and suited the action to the word. He took one of the long light curls and pulled it gently, yet with a brusque show of savagery and strength--"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, and one to make you grow. Now who says I can't celebrate your birthday!"
"You're mean, awful mean, David Eby!" She tossed her head in anger. But a moment later she relented as she saw him smile. "Ach," she said in friendly tone, "I don't care if you pull my curls. It didn't hurt anyhow. You can't do it again for a whole year. But don't you think I look like a primer donner, David?"