There was a look of defiance in the child’s face and a hard note in her shrill voice. Her face was paler than ever, but dark under the eyes.
“No, I haven’t been to a circus there, Mrs. Grandison. Richard wanted to take me to the feast at Wet Coulter but I wouldn’t go.”
“You’ll enjoy the feast here to-morrow, won’t you?”
“Yes, I shall enjoy the Dry Coulter feast, Mrs. Grandison,” answered Rachel.
“Come part of the way home with me,” said Anne.
“I’ll come to the edge of the green.”
They walked for a little while in silence.
“You have had your hair cut, Rachel. Was that Richard’s doing?”
The little girl blushed scarlet, she hung her head and seemed on the point of bursting into tears. Anne cursed herself for her unfortunate question. “The child must have got creatures in her head; I should have remembered the village better,” but she was mistaken in her thought, for when Rachel spoke it was to say: “I heard that you had your hair cut off, Mrs. Grandison.”
Anne took off her hat. “Yes,” she said. “It is shorter than yours. Did Richard tell you that?” Their eyes met; Rachel had recovered herself. “I am going to let it grow again,” she said defiantly. “Father doesn’t like it short.” She stopped to kick a stone viciously out of her path.