“But somebody could,” said the child; “if it really says anything, somebody, somewhere, would know what it means, now wouldn’t they, Randy?”
“I do believe there is some one who could understand it.” Randy spoke so earnestly that Prue stopped throwing pebbles at the water-spiders and throwing her arms around Randy, she said, “Oh, Randy! don’t look that way. When your eyes get big, and you just think and think, it makes me lonesome. Do begin to read the fairy stories.”
So Randy roused herself from her dream about the brook, and sat down, with Prue close beside her, on a rough plank which spanned the tiny stream. There, with the book upon her lap, and one arm around her little sister, she read the tales of wonder and enchantment, while the sunlight, sifting through the leaves, touched her hair and made a halo around the sweet face. Parts of the stories were too much for little Prue to understand, but such of them as her small brain could take in delighted her.
Randy read very well, although she had had but little schooling, and her delight in the splendor which the stories described gave added expression to her reading, and delighted little Prue exclaimed, “Oh, Randy, you make it seem as if it was true!”
Randy laughed, well pleased with the compliment, and continued reading: “‘And as soon as she heard the witch’s voice, she unbound her tresses.’”
“What’s ‘tresses’?” interrupted Prue.
“Why, hair,” explained Randy.
“Then, why didn’t they say ‘hair’?” said the child.
“Tresses sounds nicer,” answered Randy.
“I don’t know,” said Prue, doubtfully.