“Yes,” said her mother.
Lucy looked up in astonishment. “May I really? Do you know what you are saying?”
“Yes.”
Up sprang Lucy, her long golden curls streaming out behind her like a vail, up three steps at a time to her room, to get her bonnet and shawl, then down three stairs at a time to her mother, to get the money to pay Mr. Wynne for cutting her hair. Lucy never asked any one to go with her, she was a very independent little girl, she knew the way to the barber’s, because her father used to go there to get shaved, and when Lucy was much smaller, he used sometimes to take her with him.
So Lucy soon found the shop; there were no customers in it. Lucy was glad of that; nobody to bother her; but unfortunately Mr. Wynne was not in, either. But Lucy was determined that she would not be disappointed, so when the barber’s assistant said,
“What do you want of Mr. Wynne?”
She answered, “I want him to cut off my curls.”
“Cut your curls?” replied the man; “were they my sister’s, I would not have them cut off for a five dollar bill; one don’t see such curls as yours every day, miss.”
“They must be cut,” said little Lucy, shutting her lips together very firmly. “Why can’t you cut them for me?”
“Not I,” said the assistant, “at least not till Mr. Wynne comes in.”