She was a tall, slight child, straight as a dart, still rather fragile
in appearance, but with a healthy pink in her cheeks that did credit to
Sussex air and living. Her hair was long, and floated about in the
summer breeze in great waves of gold, the long silky tresses reaching
below her waist. In striking contrast to this golden hair and fair pink
and white complexion were her great brown eyes, with their long, dark
lashes and delicately, though firmly, pencilled eyebrows. The rest of
her features were nothing out of the common way, but her fair hair and
dark eyes and brilliant complexion would at once have attracted
attention, if, young as she was, she had not already been one of those
people who can't come into a room without making their presence felt.
The name little Jack--no longer little, by the way--had chosen for her
years ago suited her exactly. Lightly as a fairy she tripped and flitted
about, bright as a sunbeam, as though no such thing as care or sorrow
existed in the world. Dainty in all her ways, neat and trim in her
dress, with tiny hands and feet, a better name than Fairy could not have
been given her. She was dressed in a pink print, simply yet well-made,
and altogether the child looked out of keeping with her surroundings,
particularly with her foster brother, Charlie, in his corduroys and his
swill-pail by his side.
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