Eppie cannot help being rather
vexed about her hair, for there is no other girl in Raveloe who has
hair at all like it, and she thinks hair ought to be smooth. She
does not like to be blameworthy even in small things: you see how
neatly her prayer-book is folded in her spotted handkerchief.
That good-looking young fellow, in a new fustian suit, who walks
behind her, is not quite sure upon the question of hair in the
abstract, when Eppie puts it to him, and thinks that perhaps
straight hair is the best in general, but he doesn't want Eppie's hair
to be different. She surely divines that there is someone behind her
who is thinking about her very particularly, and mustering courage
to come to her side as soon as they are out in the lane, else why
should she look rather shy, and take care not to turn away her head
from her father Silas, to whom she keeps murmuring little sentences as
to who was at church and who was not at church, and how pretty the red
mountain-ash is over the Rectory wall?
'I wish we had a little garden, father, with double daisies in,
like Mrs Winthrop's,' said Eppie, when they were out in the lane;
'only they say it 'ud take a deal of digging and bringing fresh
soil- and you couldn't do that, could you, father? Anyhow, I shouldn't
like you to do it, for it 'ud be too hard work for you.'
'Yes, I could do it, child, if you want a bit o' garden: these long
evenings, I could work at taking in a little bit o' the waste, just
enough for a root or two o' flowers for you; and again, i' the
morning, I could have a turn wi' the spade before I sat down to the
loom.
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