"Aye," he said to himself bitterly, "she's putting on her
Saturday face. There's trouble brewing, I doubt! It'll be Jock
this and Jock that both but and ben all day long, and whatever is
the use of all this tirley-wirly I can't see, when on Monday the
house will look as if it had never seen the sight of a besom!
I'll just bide where I am." He closed his eyes and pretended to
be asleep.

It is true that Jean's Saturday face had such a housekeepery
pucker between the eyes and such a severe arrangement of the
front hair that any one who did not peep behind the black ribbon
might have thought her a very stern young person indeed, but
behind the black ribbon Jean's true character stood revealed!
However prim and smooth she might make it look in front, where
the cracked glass enabled her to keep an eye on it, behind her
back, where she couldn't possibly see it, her hair broke into the
jolliest little waves and curls, which bobbed merrily about even
on the worst Saturday that ever was; and spoiled the effect
whenever she tried to be severe.

When she had given a final wipe with the brush, she took another
look at Jock. There was still nothing to be seen of him but the
shock of sandy hair and a series of bumps under the blanket. Jock
could feel Jean looking at him right through the bed-clothes.

"Jock," said Jean,--and her voice had a Saturday sound to it,--
"You can't sleep in this day! Get up!"

There was no answer. Jock might well have known that Jean was in