" retorted the victim, opening
his eyes to glare at her belligerently. "If I give you the job, and pay
you all that for it, I'm going to have something to say about the way
it's done. You can spread down a paper, if you're afraid."

"Well," said Marjorie reluctantly; "I don't know but 'twould be cold on
the piazza. Wait a minute, and I'll be ready."

Her preparations were quickly made. A layer of newspapers was spread
over the carpet, and a chair set out in the middle of the room. Then she
tied a blue checked apron around Grant's neck, and announced herself as
in readiness.

"Sit down there," she commanded, as she dived into a box of scrap-book
materials for a pair of paste-stained scissors; "and don't you dare to
wiggle, for I shall cut you if you do." And she gave the scissors an
expressive clash above his head.

"All right," said Grant again, as he once more closed his eyes and
assumed a look of abject misery.

Then silence fell upon the room, and for a long half hour the stillness
was only broken by the clatter of the loose-jointed scissors, and an
occasional moan from Grant, when the blunt points collided with his skin
with more than ordinary vigor. With one hand clutching the boy's yellow
head for support, Marjorie stood over him, clipping and trimming, then
stopping to contemplate the result of her labors, before attacking a new
spot. She had started out upon her undertaking valiantly enough; but a
dozen reckless slashes had begun to awaken some slight misgivings in her
mind, and she proceeded more slowly and with frequent pauses, while an
anxious pucker about her brows showed that she was not entirely
satisfied with her work. Worst of all, Grant was beginning to grow
restive.

"'Most through?" he had inquired some time before.

But Marjorie had consoled him with assurances of his speedy release; and
he had resigned himself to the inevitable and sat quiet for ten minutes
longer. Then he burst out again.

"Say, Marjorie," he protested; "you scratch like fun; and you've been
long enough about it to cut a dozen hairs. Hurry up, there!"

"I'm almost through," she answered hastily. "Your hair's so tough it
takes me longer than I thought 'twould."

"How's it going to look?"

"Lovely!" responded Marjorie, with a fervor which she was far from
feeling, while she made a few hurried clips at a long lock which, in
some way, had escaped her vigilance. "There!" she added. "That's all.
You can get up."

Grant ro