crying in her aunt's grip was Louie. White trailing folds swept
behind her; a white garment underneath, apparently her nightgown,
was festooned with an old red-and-blue striped sash of some foreign
make. Round her neck hung a necklace of that gold filigree work
which spreads from Genoa all along the Riviera; her magnificent
hair hung in masses over her shoulders, crowned by the primroses of
the morning, which had been hurriedly twisted into a wreath by a
bit of red ribbon rummaged out of some drawer of odds-and-ends;
and her thin brown arms and hands appeared under the white
cloak--nothing but a sheet--which was being now trodden underfoot
in the child's passionate efforts to get away from her aunt. Ten
minutes before she had been a happy queen flaunting over her attic
floor in a dream of joy before a broken, propped-up looking-glass
under the splendid illumination of three dips, long since secreted
for purposes of the kind. Now she was a bedraggled, tear-stained
Fury, with a fierce humiliation and a boundless hatred glaring out
of the eyes, which in Aunt Hannah's opinion were so big as to be
'right down oogly.' Poor Louie!

Uncle Reuben, startled from his snooze by this apparition, looked
at it with a sleepy bewilderment, and fumbled for his spectacles.
'Ay, yo'd better luke at her close,' said Hannah, grimly, giving
her niece a violent shake as she spoke; 'I wor set yo should just
see her fur yance at her antics. Yo say soomtimes I'm hard on her.
Well, I'd ask ony pusson aloive if they'd put up wi this soart o'
thing--dressin up like a bad hizzy that waaks t' streets, wi
three candles--_three_, I tell yo, Reuben--flarin away, and the
curtains close to, an nothink but the Lord's mussy keepin 'em from
catchin. An she peacockin an gallivantin away enough to mak a cat
laugh!'