"Well, you called so cross we thought you would come after us, so
we had to run."

"One never knows," sighed mother. "I thought you were loitering.

Of course if I had known you were having trouble with the ducks!
I think you had better go back and help them."

"Didn't I do enough to take them home? Can't Sammy Deam catch
ducks as fast as I can?"

"I suppose so," said mother. "And I must get your bathing out of
the way of supper. You use the tub while I do Little Sister's
hair."

I almost hated Sunday, because of what had to be done to my hair
on Saturday, to get ready for it. All week it hung in two long
braids that were brushed and arranged each morning. But on
Saturday it had to be combed with a fine comb, oiled and rolled
around strips of tin until Sunday morning. Mother did everything
thoroughly. She raked that fine comb over our scalps until she
almost raised the blood. She hadn't time to fool with tangles,
and we had so much hair she didn't know what to do with all of
it, anyway. When she was busy talking she reached around too far
and combed across our foreheads or raked the tip of an ear.

But on Sunday morning we forgot all that, when we walked down the
aisle with shining curls hanging below our waists. Mother was
using the fine comb, when she looked up, and there stood Mrs.