"Don't attempt to come into the class-room with your long hair untidy. Without a ribbon it would look slovenly."
Patricia's smile was broad, and her eyes actually impish as she left the hall.
"She's equal to pinning on a half-dozen extra bows if she chooses," Miss Fenler said, under her breath.
Glenmore, once a private estate, looked like an old castle, and the dwellings that were its nearest neighbors were owned by old and wealthy residents. No stores had ever broken the charm of the locality, and the sleepy old town had supposed that they never would, yet around the corner of a little back street, an enterprising Italian had purchased a wee cottage. After three days a sign appeared in his front window. It stunned the residents. It read:
Antonio Carana,
Barber and Hairdresser.
Already small boys and girls might be seen, in charge of maids, trotting up his steps with long curls, and after a few minutes, appearing with a "Dutch cut."
Patricia, buttoning her coat as she ran, appeared at his door breathless, but eager.
"I want my hair bobbed, and I must have it done right off, or I'll be late to school," she cried, rushing past the astonished Tony, and mounting his big chair.
"Dutch cut!" she demanded, thinking that he had not understood her.
"Cutta da long hair?" he asked, lifting the strands.