"I'll tell you what I'm thinking about," said Dotty, as the girl left
the room;--"what has she got on her head?"

"Why, hair, to be sure," replied Grace.

"Wool, I should call it," corrected Horace.

"Because I didn't know," faltered Dotty,--"I didn't know but 'twas a
wig."

"What made you think 'twas a wig, Dotty?"

"O, there was a man wore one in the cars; it looked just like anybody's
hair, only he tied it on with a button. He knew you and Horace."

"Me and Horace? Who could it have been?"

"He's the major; his name is Lazelle."

"O, I remember him," said Grace and Horace together. "Does he wear a
wig? He isn't old at all."

"He _calls_ himself 'an old mustache,'" returned Dotty, "for he said so
to me. He wears one of those _hair-lips_, and a wig."

"And he's as blind as a post?"

"O, no, he can see things now. I liked him, for he gave me all the
apples and peaches I could eat."