Swiftly and deftly the wool-threaded needles were drawn back and
forth, and the mother seemed never to let her eyes wander from the
work. But the daughter, who bore the Christian name of Effi, laid
aside her needle from time to time and arose from her seat to practice
a course of healthy home gymnastics, with every variety of bending and
stretching. It was apparent that she took particular delight in these
exercises, to which she gave a somewhat comical turn, and whenever she
stood there thus engaged, slowly raising her arms and bringing the
palms of her hands together high above her head, her mother would
occasionally glance up from her needlework, though always but for a
moment and that, too, furtively, because she did not wish to show how
fascinating she considered her own child, although in this feeling of
motherly pride she was fully justified. Effi wore a blue and white
striped linen dress, a sort of smock-frock, which would have shown no
waist line at all but for the bronze-colored leather belt which she
drew up tight. Her neck was bare and a broad sailor collar fell over
her shoulders and back. In everything she did there was a union of
haughtiness and gracefulness, and her laughing brown eyes betrayed
great natural cleverness and abundant enjoyment of life and goodness
of heart. She was called the "little girl," which she had to suffer
only because her beautiful slender mother was a full hand's breadth
taller than she.
Effi had just stood up again to perform her calisthenic exercises when
her mother, who at the moment chanced to be looking up from her
embroidery, called to her: "Effi, you really ought to have been an
equestrienne, I'm thinking.
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