round the white and somewhat austere room, and ran his eye over the
bookstand at his elbow.

Books on horses, a treatise on bulldogs, the New Testament, essays in
French and in German, the History of Egypt in Arabic, Budge's "Book of
the Dead," and "King Solomon's Mines."

"But what am I do _meanwhile_, Dads?" and the girl threw out her hands
imploringly.

"Be cold, deaf or brave, Golliwog, as I have suggested."

"But I've been all that, and it's quite useless. Do you think it would
help if I let my hair grow and did it up in a tight knob?"

"I think it would help a lot if you shaved your head entirely, kiddie."
And the man leant forward and ran his hand through the red curls.

Once upon a time Damaris had read the advertisement of a certain powder
guaranteed to darken hair of any colour, and life having been one long
torment owing to her violent colouring, she had, greatly daring,
acquired a packet; had followed the directions by mixing the powder
with water and covering her head with the muddy result, and, "to make
assurance doubly sure," had sat with her clay pate for an hour instead
of ten minutes near a fire; had cracked the clay, washed her head, and
found her hair grass-green.

She had chopped the verdant masses off without a thought, and had ever
after refused to allow it to grow to hairpin length, and to her father
only had granted the privilege of calling her by the pet name of