Her sisters had laid out her dress in readiness for her, and had taken her part with their accustomed warmth and goodwill.

They were not at all afraid of her not turning up safe and sound.

Cherry had many friends, and it was just as likely as not that she would stop and gossip all along the bridge as she came home.

She took something of the privilege of a spoiled child, despite her aunt's rigid training.
She knew her sisters never looked askance at her; that her father found it hard to scold severely, however grave he might try to look to please Aunt Susan; and it was perfectly well known in the house that she had no liking for those grave debates that formed the prelude to the supper downstairs.

It was like enough she would linger without as long as she dared, and then spend as much time as possible strewing her rushes and dressing herself, so that she should not have long to listen to the talk of the elders.
Jemima and Keziah had long since trained themselves to that perfect stillness and decorous silence that was deemed fitting for women, and especially young women, in presence of their elders, They had even begun to take a certain interest in the questions discussed.
But to Cherry it was simple penance to have to sit for one hour or more, her tongue and her active limbs alike chained, and her sisters were quite prepared for the absence of the younger girl when the guests dropped in one by one.
Their uncle, Abraham Dyson, was the first arrival, and behind him followed his son and daughter, Jacob and Rachel.