y and all bushy and fuzzy."

Cecily finally yielded and went upstairs with the Story Girl. Presently
we heard a little shriek--then two little shrieks--then three. Then
Felicity came flying down and called her mother. Aunt Janet went up and
presently came down again with a grim mouth. She filled a large pan with
warm water and carried it upstairs. We dared ask her no questions, but
when Felicity came down to wash the dishes we bombarded her.

"What on earth is the matter with Cecily?" demanded Dan. "Is she sick?"

"No, she isn't. I warned her not to put her hair in curls but she
wouldn't listen to me. I guess she wishes she had now. When people
haven't natural curly hair they shouldn't try to make it curly. They get
punished if they do."

"Look here, Felicity, never mind all that. Just tell us what has
happened Sis."

"Well, this is what has happened her. That ninny of a Sara Ray brought
up a bottle of mucilage instead of Judy's curling-fluid, and Cecily put
her hair up with THAT. It's in an awful state."

"Good gracious!" exclaimed Dan. "Look here, will she ever get it out?"

"Goodness knows. She's got her head in soak now. Her hair is just matted
together hard as a board. That's what comes of vanity," said Felicity,
than whom no vainer girl existed.

Poor Cecily paid dearly enough for HER vanity. She spent a bad forenoon,
made no easier by her mother's severe rebukes. For an hour she "soaked"
her head; that is, she stood over a panful of warm water and kept
dipping her head in with tightly shut eyes. Finally her hair softened
sufficiently to be disentangled from the curl papers; and then Aunt
Janet subjected it to a merciless shampoo. Eventually they got all the
mucilage washed out of it and Cecily spent the remainder of the forenoon
sitting before the open oven door in the hot kitchen drying her ill-used
tresses. She felt very down-hearted; her hair was of that order which,
glossy and smooth normally, is dry and harsh and lustreless for several
days after being shampooed.

"I'll look like a fright tonight," said the poor child to me with
trembling voice. "The ends will be sticking out all over my head."

"Sara Ray is a perfect idiot," I said wrathfully

"Oh, don't be hard on poor Sara. She didn't mean to bring me mucilage.
It's really all my own fault, I know. I made a solemn vow when Peter was
dying that I would never curl my hair again, and I should have kept it.
It isn't right to break solemn vows. But