find fault with
her. But now, when Tom began to laugh at her, and say she was like the
idiot, the affair had quite a new aspect. She looked in the glass, and
still Tom laughed and clapped his hands, and Maggie's flushed cheeks
began to pale, and her lips to tremble a little.

"Oh, Maggie, you'll have to go down to dinner directly," said Tom. "Oh,
my!"

"Don't laugh at me, Tom," said Maggie, in a passionate tone, 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 and left poor Maggie to that bitter sense of the
irrevocable which was almost an everyday experience of her small soul.
She 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; for Maggie rushed to her deeds with passionate impulse, and
then saw not only their consequences, but what would have happened if
they had not been done, with all the detail and exaggerated
circumstances of an active imagination.

"Miss Maggie, you're to come down this minute," said Kezia, entering the
room hurriedly. "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.

"Get away, Kezia; I don't want any dinner," said Maggie, resisting
Kezia's arm. "I sha'n'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
after, "why don't you come and have your dinner? There's lots o'
goodies, and mother says you're to come. What are you crying for, you
little spooney?"

Oh, it was dreadful! Tom was so hard and unconcerned; 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, and did not
feel that Maggie's grief spoiled his prospect of the sweets; but he went
and put his head near her, and said in a lower, comforting tone,--

"Won't you come, then, Magsie? Shall I bring you a bit o' pudding when
I've had mine, and a custard and things?"

"Y