"Yes. And I put it on just before I started for church. He said it would make the hair a beautiful brown."
"Who said so?"
"That drugstore clerk," said Neale, despondently.
"He never sold you hair-dye at all!"
"Goodness knows what it was——"
"It's stained your collar—and it's run down your neck and dyed that green."
"Do you suppose I can ever get it off, Aggie?" groaned the boy.
"We'll try. Come on home and we'll get a lot of soapsuds in a tub in the woodshed—so we can splash it if we want to," said the suddenly practical Agnes.
They reached the woodshed without being observed by Uncle Rufus. Agnes brought the water and the soap and a hand-brush from the kitchen. Neale removed his collar and tie, and turned back the neck of his shirt. Agnes aproned her Sunday frock and went to work.
But, sad to relate, the more she scrubbed, and the more Neale suffered, the worse his hair looked!