scruple, by any who might find them, until the owner called for them, if
he cared to take the trouble.

Myrtle took a knife from her pocket, cut down a long, slender sapling,
and coaxed the boat to the side of the bank. A pair of old oars lay in
the bottom of the boat; she took one of these and paddled it into a
little cove, where it could lie hid among the thick alders. Then she went
home and busied herself about various little matters more interesting to
her than to us.

She was never more amiable and gracious than on this day. But she looked
often at the clock, as they remembered afterwards, and studied over a
copy of the Farmer's Almanac which was lying in the kitchen, with a
somewhat singular interest. The days were nearly at their longest, the
weather was mild, the night promised to be clear and bright.

The household was, to all appearance, asleep at the usual early hour.
When all seemed quiet, Myrtle lighted her lamp, stood before her mirror,
and untied the string that bound her long and beautiful dark hair, which
fell in its abundance over her shoulders and below her girdle.

She lifted its heavy masses with one hand, and severed it with a strong
pair of scissors, with remorseless exaction of every wandering curl,
until she stood so changed by the loss of that outward glory of her
womanhood, that she felt as if she had lost herself and found a brother
she had never seen before.

"Good-by, Myrtle!" she said, and, opening her window very gently, she
flung the shining tresses upon the running water, and watched them for a
few moments as they floated down the stream. Then she dressed herself in