"Thank you," she said, when he had come to the end. "We never have music here."
Jack wondered where she had learned her pretty manners.
The hair-cutting was concluded. Andy sprang up looking like a little zebra with alternate dark and light stripes running around his head, and a narrow bang like a forelock in the middle of his forehead. Jack put away the banjo, and Andy, seeing that there was to be no more music, set off in chase of Colin. The two of them disappeared over the bank. Mary gathered up towels, soap, comb, and scissors preparatory to following them.
"Don't go yet," said Jack eagerly.
"I must," she said, but lingering. "There is much to be done before the steamboat comes."
"She's only expected," said Jack of the knowledge born of experience. "It'll be a week before she comes."
Mary displayed no great eagerness to be gone.
A bold idea had been making a covert shine in Jack's eyes during the last minute or two. It suddenly found expression. "Cut my hair," he blurted out.
She started and blushed. "Oh, I—I couldn't cut a man's hair," she stammered.
"What's the difference?" demanded Jack with a great parade of innocence. "Hair is just hair, isn't it?"