But
Priscilla's peculiar charm, in a foot-race, was the weakness and
irregularity with which she ran. Growing up without exercise, except
to her poor little fingers, she had never yet acquired the perfect
use of her legs. Setting buoyantly forth, therefore, as if no rival
less swift than Atalanta could compete with her, she ran falteringly,
and often tumbled on the grass. Such an incident--though it seems
too slight to think of--was a thing to laugh at, but which brought
the water into one's eyes, and lingered in the memory after far
greater joys and sorrows were wept out of it, as antiquated trash.
Priscilla's life, as I beheld it, was full of trifles that affected
me in just this way.
When she had come to be quite at home among us, I used to fancy that
Priscilla played more pranks, and perpetrated more mischief, than any
other girl in the Community. For example, I once heard Silas Foster,
in a very gruff voice, threatening to rivet three horseshoes round
Priscilla's neck and chain her to a post, because she, with some
other young people, had clambered upon a load of hay, and caused it
to slide off the cart. How she made her peace I never knew; but very
soon afterwards I saw old Silas, with his brawny hands round
Priscilla's waist, swinging her to and fro, and finally depositing
her on one of the oxen, to take her first lessons in riding. She met
with terrible mishaps in her efforts to milk a cow; she let the
poultry into the garden; she generally spoilt whatever part of the
dinner she took in charge; she broke crockery; she dropt our biggest
water pitcher into the well; and--except with her needle, and those
little wooden instruments for purse-making--was as unserviceable a
member of society as any young lady in the land.
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