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“There’s no time to play at anything before dinner,” said Tom.

“Oh yes, there is time for this. Do come, Tom.”

Tom followed Maggie upstairs into her mother’s room, and saw her go at once to a drawer, from which she took a large pair of scissors.

“What are they for, Maggie?” said Tom.

Maggie answered by seizing her front locks and cutting them straight across the middle of her forehead.

“Oh, my buttons, Maggie, you’ll catch it!” exclaimed Tom; “you’d better not cut any more off.”

Snip went the great scissors again while Tom was speaking; and he couldn’t help feeling it was rather good fun–Maggie would look so queer.

“Here, Tom, cut it behind for me,” said Maggie, much excited.

“You’ll catch it, you know,” said Tom as he took the scissors.

“Never mind; make haste!” said Maggie, giving a little stamp with her foot. Her cheeks were quite flushed.

One delicious grinding snip, and then another and another. The hinder locks fell heavily on the floor, and soon Maggie stood cropped in a jagged, uneven manner.

“O Maggie!” said Tom, jumping round her, and slapping his knees as he laughed–“oh, my buttons, what a queer thing you look! Look at yourself in the glass.”

Maggie felt an unexpected pang. She didn’t want her hair to look pretty–she only wanted people to think her a clever little girl, and not to find fault with her untidy head. But now, when Tom began to laugh at her, the affair had quite a new aspect. She looked in the glass, and still Tom laughed and clapped his hands, while Maggie’s flushed cheeks began to pale and her lips to tremble a little.

“O Maggie, you’ll have to go down to dinner directly,” said Tom. “Oh my!”

“Don’t laugh at me, Tom,” said Maggie, with an outburst of angry tears, stamping, and giving him a push.

“Now, then, spitfire!” said Tom. “What did you cut it off for, then? I shall go down; I can smell the dinner going in.”

He hurried downstairs at once. Maggie could see clearly enough, now the thing was done, that it was very foolish, and that she should have to hear and think more about her hair than ever. As she stood crying before the glass she felt it impossible to go down to dinner and endure the severe eyes and severe words of her aunts, while Tom, and Lucy, and Martha, who waited at table, and perhaps her father and her uncles, would laugh at her–for if Tom had laughed at her, of course every one else would; and if she had only let her hair alone, she could have sat with Tom and Lucy, and had the apricot pudding and the custard!

“Miss Maggie, you’re to come down this minute,” said Kezia, entering the room after a few moments. “Lawks! what have you been a-doing? I niver see such a fright.”

“Don’t, Kezia,” said Maggie angrily. “Go away!”

“But I tell you, you’re to come down, miss, this minute; your mother says so,” said Kezia, going up to Maggie and taking her by the hand to raise her from the floor, on which she had thrown herself.

“Get away, Kezia; I don’t want any dinner,” said Maggie, resisting Kezia’s arm. “I shan’t come.”

“Oh, well, I can’t stay. I’ve got to wait at dinner,” said Kezia, going out again.

“Maggie, you little silly,” said Tom, peeping into the room ten minutes later, “why don’t you come and have your dinner? There’s lots o’ goodies, and mother says you’re to come.”

Oh, it was dreadful! Tom was so hard. If he had been crying on the floor, Maggie would have cried too. And there was the dinner, so nice, and she was so hungry. It was very bitter.

But Tom was not altogether hard. He was not inclined to cry, but he went and put his head near her and said in a lower, comforting tone,–