“And how’s the picture going forrard then?”
After this question it was easy to tell the whole story, from its beginning to its unlucky end. During its progress the cobbler listened with the deepest attention, gave now a nod, and now a shake of the head or a muttered “Humph!” and when it was finished he fingered his cheek thoughtfully, and said:
“And so he wouldn’t paint you—eh? and Mother was angry?”
“She’s dreadful angry,” sighed Lilac.
“Did you think it ’ud please her, now?” asked Uncle Joshua.
“N–no,” answered Lilac hesitatingly; “but I never thought as how she’d make so much fuss. And after all no one don’t like it. Do you think as how it looks very bad, Uncle?”
The cobbler put his spectacles carefully straight and studied Lilac’s face with earnest attention. “What I consider is this here,” he said as he finished his examination and leant back in his chair. “It makes you look like lots of other little gells, that’s what it does. Not so much like White Lilac as you used to. I liked it best as it wur afore.”
“Peter, he said that too,” said Lilac. “No one likes it except Agnetta.”
“Ah! And what made Agnetta and all of ’em cut their hair that way?” asked Uncle Joshua.
“Because Gusta Greenways told Bella as how all the ladies in London did it,” answered Lilac simply.