own face, irregular, piquant, tantalizing, had its peculiar
charm, and her brilliant skin and hair so dazzled the masculine
beholder that he took note of no small defects; but Waitstill was
beautiful; beautiful even in her working dress of purple calico.
Her single braid of hair, the Foxwell hair, that in her was
bronze and in Patty pale auburn, was wound once around her fine
head and made to stand a little as it went across the front. It
was a simple, easy, unconscious fashion of her own, quite
different from anything done by other women in her time and
place, and it just suited her dignity and serenity. It looked
like a coronet, but it was the way she carried her head that gave
you the fancy, there was such spirit and pride in the poise of it
on the long graceful neck. Her eyes were as clear as mountain
pools shaded by rushes, and the strength of the face was softened
by the sweetness of the mouth.

Patty never let the conversation die out for many seconds at a
time and now she began again. "My sudden rages don't match my
name very well, but, of course, mother didn't know how I was
going to turn out when she called me Patience, for I was nothing
but a squirming little bald, red baby; but my name really is too
ridiculous when you think about it."

Waitstill laughed as she said: "It didn't take you long to change
it! Perhaps Patience was a hard word for a baby to say, but the
moment you could talk you said, 'Patty wants this' and 'Patty
wants that."'

"Did Patty ever get it? She never has since, that's certain! And
look at your name: it's 'Waitstill,' yet you never stop a moment.