The girlish immaturity was fast vanishing in soft curves and tender
lines. And the beauty of her!--the beauty of her was as the gold of a
summer morning breaking over a pearly sea.

She was a creature of light and laughter, but there were in her odd
little streaks of unconsidered impulse that testified to a passionate
soul. She would flash into a temper over a mere trifle, and then in a
moment flash back into mirth and amiability.

"You can't call her bad-tempered," said Mrs. Peck. "But she's
sharp--she's certainly sharp."

"Ay, and she's got a will of her own," commented Adam. "But she's your
charge, missus, not mine. It's my belief you'll find her a bit of a
handful before you've done. But don't you ask me to interfere! It's none
o' my job."

"Lor' bless you," chuckled Mrs. Peck, "I'd as soon think of asking
Rufus!"

Adam grunted at this light reference to his son. "Rufus ain't such a
fool as he looks," he rejoined.

"Lor' sakes! Whoever said he was?" protested the equable Mrs. Peck.
"I've a great respect for Rufus. It wasn't that I meant--not by any
manner o' means."

What she had meant did not transpire, and Adam did not pursue the
subject to inquire. He also had a respect for Rufus.