erfully. "You through?"

That did not sound very threatening.

"We are to get pepper and horseradish."

Mr. Reed nodded, folded his paper and, slipping it into his pocket,
settled his hat.

"Mother may think of something else."

She positively couldn't. She considered that it saved time to do errands
when you were going out, and she spent a great deal of time trying to
think how to save it.

They walked down First Avenue past Houston Street. Almost at the end of
the next block there was a barber-pole with its stripes running round.
The barber-pole and the Indian at the cigar shops were features of that
day, as well.

"Wouldn't you like to have your hair cut, Charles?" inquired his father.

The world swam round so that Charles was minded to clutch the
barber-pole, but he bethought himself in time that it was dusty. He
looked at his father in amaze.

"Oh, don't be a ninny! No one will take your head off. Come, you're big
enough boy to go to the barber's."

The palace of delight seemed opening before the boy. No one can rightly
understand his satisfaction at this late day. The mothers, you see, used
to cut hair as they thought was right, and nearly every mother had a
different idea except those whose idea was simply to cut it off.

They had to wait awhile. Charles sat down in a padded chair, had a large
white towel pinned close up under his chin, his hair combed out with the
softest touch imaginable. The barber's hands were silken soft; his
mother's were hard and rough. Snip, snip, snip, comb, brush, sprinkle
some fragrance out of a bottle with a pepper-sauce cork--bulbs and
sprays had not been invented. Oh, how delightful it was! He really did
not want to get down and go home.

Mr. Reed had been talking to an acquaintance. The other chair being
vacant, he had his beard trimmed. He was not sure whether he would have
it taken off this summer, though he generally did. He turned his head a
little and looked at his son. He wasn't as poetical looking, but really,
he was a nice, clean, wholesome, and--yes--manly boy. But he blushed
scarlet.

"That looks something like," was his father's comment. What a nice broad
forehead Charles had!

"He's a nice boy," said the barber in a low tone. "Boy to be proud of. I
wish there were more like him."

Mr. Reed paid his bill and they went to the store. Then they strolled on
down the street. But Charles was in distress lest the pungent berry and
odoriferous root should tak