A merry pounding on the closed door announced arrivals and before Virg could open it, a group of laughing girls burst in unceremoniously. They were dragging Sally whose wealth of long golden hair had been unbraided and hung to her knees. She was wearing an exquisite pale blue silk kimona embroidered with delicate pink flowers which her doting mother had sent her as a gift from Paris. There were slippers to match.
“Virg,” Betsy Clossen cried, “isn’t our Sally a picture? If she could appear in that tonight, wouldn’t she be the belle of the ball all right?”
“If I had hair like yours Sal, I’d think life was worth living.” Dicky Taylor perched on the arm of a chair and looked admiringly at the maid whose cheeks were flushed and whose eyes sparkled. Breaking away from her truly admiring tormentors, Sally darted for the door. “I may surprise you and be the belle of the ball for all your teasing. Just wait and see.”
“Was that a threat?” Betsy began, then chancing to glance at the clock, she sprang up from the window seat, grabbed Dicky and Babs and pushed them toward the door. “Only three-quarters of an hour to dress and if we intend to outshine Sally, we’ll have to do a powerful lot of prinking.”
Margaret and Virginia left alone, smiled at each other. “What a merry trio Babs, Betsy and Dicky are,” Virg said as she let down her own sunny hair and began to brush it.
“Dear,” Margaret said, “you’ve done a good many things this year worth the doing, but among the most lasting in its influence for good, I do believe is the change that you have wrought in Sally. She used to be so self-conscious and simpering; probably because her mother was always asking people if they didn’t think she was a beautiful child, but now, when we really were admiring that wonderful hair of hers, she would have like to pummel us.”
“She’s a dear girl,” Virginia agreed, “and I only hope her unwise mother will not be able to undo the good we have done. But do hurry, Megsy, if you are to compete for the honor of being belle of the ball.”
“I plead not guilty. I’m going to vote for you, of course.” Then she skipped to her room across the hall, but scarcely had she gone, when Dicky Taylor appeared, dressed in the ruffly white gown but carrying a long pale green hair ribbon, “Oh, I say, Virg,” she pleaded, “won’t you have pity on a ‘pusson’ whose fingers are all thumbs? I’ve tried twenty times to tie a beautiful butterfly bow for my crowning ornament but I simply can’t do it.”
“Of course I will.” Virginia’s skillful fingers soon fashioned a graceful bow which she pinned atop of the short dark locks. With profuse thanks, Dicky darted away but almost at once Babs and Betsy appeared. “Oh, I say, Virg, that’s being partial. Betsy’ll get all the votes just because of that adorable bow. Show us how to make ours.”
“Better still, I’ll make them!” When the grateful girls were gone, Megsy appeared. “Why, Virg, it’s ten minutes to dinner time and you aren’t dressed. I was going to ask you to tie my sash, but instead I’m going to help you.”