"It is almost a pity to wear it so closely bound up," continued cousin Serena; while Bessie and I, apparently making an inspection of Johnny's stock while he was engaged with another customer, lent attentive ears to what passed, I feeling rather that my intended mission work had been taken up by other hands; "it would show so nicely if you wore it loose and flowing as most little girls do now. I would like to see it when it is down."
With a motion marvellously quick in one so crippled, the child raised her hands, unbound the coil from about her head, and drawing her fingers through the plait, let the rippling, waving masses fall flowing over her poor, twisted, mis-shapen shoulders.
"Amy and Bessie," said cousin Serena, pursuing her advantage of playing upon the only vanity in poor Matty's nature, "Amy and Bessie, come here and see what beautiful hair this child has. It is a good deal like yours, Amy, both in color and quantity."
With another sudden motion, Matty drew the shining waves in front of her, glanced at them lovingly, and then raising her eyes to me with the first appearance of any thing like interest in them which I had ever seen, scanned my locks, and said with something of malicious triumph in her tone and look,—
"It's prettier nor her'n."
"So it is, Matty," I said, ignoring what Daisy would have called the "discompliment" to myself, and determined to strike while the iron was hot, or at least approaching an unusual degree of warmth,—"so it is; you have the very prettiest hair I ever saw."
Matty did not smile,—I never but once saw the light of a smile on her face,—but she gave a low chuckle. Evidently we had touched a chord that would respond; an ignoble one it might be, but it was something to have gained even this.
Having dismissed his customer, Johnny now came to the front.
"'Tis goot," he said, pointing to the beautiful locks; "'tis goot. Mine wife she say 'tis pest cut off dat head; bud Maddy she so moosh lofe dat head, an' 'tis so goot, I say, leaf her keep her head. So mine wife, she say, 'yes, 'tis too pad to cut dat nice head,' an' she leafs it on her, an' mine wife she comb an' prush it for Maddy. But I tells Maddy she shall sell dat head for so moosh as fife tollars if she schuse."
"Don't ye be after tellin' me mother that," said Matty, with a sudden look of angry alarm, which was really pathetic, as one gathered from it that the child felt she would no longer be allowed to keep her one cherished possession, if any idea of its pecuniary value were suggested to her mother.