the splashing of water and the shuffling of feet as Tessibel stood first
on one and then the other, washing her dirty face. She mopped the long
red hair in and out of the wash-basin, and Myra was not prepared for the
vision which Tessibel made in her new state of cleanliness. The impetus
of being good-looking by an effort of her own had blackened the copper
colored eyes. The long fringed lashes dripped with pearls of water while
the skin had reddened from the vigorous rubbing, but it was very, very
clean.

"I wants yer comb, Myry Longman," said Tessibel slowly shaking herself
like a big dog.

Myra hesitated.

"Ye got too much dirt in your hair yet," said she, "but if ye'll take
care of yer mop, I'll be givin' ye a comb to yourself."

Tess did not deny the accusation of her filth. She took the comb and
drew it through the wet locks. Myra was regarding her critically.
Tessibel--was beautiful. In the last year Ezra's sister had seen the
change coming. The complexion had whitened under the perpetual dirt and
the long eyes had gathered an expression of knowledge, while their color
changed from light to dark with passing emotions.

Myra bent her brows as she examined Tessibel closer. The skin was clean
and shone with the glossiness of much soap. The low brow was covered
with small wet ringlets, which turned and twisted here and there in
luxurious confusion. Over the shoulders, hidden by a soiled calico
blouse, the copper colored mass hung in dripping flame-like waves.

"You air pretty," said Myra slowly, "but ye air so dum dirty no one can
ever see it. Why ain't you washed up like that every day?"

"Never knowed how before. Didn't see nothin' to keep clean in my face."

As Tessibel spoke she stood before the glass looking at her own
image--spying upon the prettiness which Myra said was there.

"This hair air like red snakes," she gasped passionately. "Just like the
snakes that eats the little birds in the spring. In the sun their backs
air red like this--and this--and this."

She was angrily tearing at the beautiful tightly curled ringlets with
but one thought dominating her brain. Students never liked red haired
girls with eyes which looked like copper.

"Don't," ordered Myra, catching the rough hands as they pulled at the
profusion of redness. "Don't, ye air tearin' it out by the roots, and it
looks like--like the sun when it air goin' down in one ball of fire. It
air beautiful."

Beautiful! beautiful! Tessibe