“Why, little Sis, I don’t know. It looks as if it did.”
Jane looked forward to the call on the new sister with mingled dread and delight. She drove off in state beside her mother proudly arrayed in her best red merino dress and little brown furs, and firmly resolved to put prejudice aside for once and be a little lady.
Her awe of this new sister was so great that she followed her mother into the Gates’ parlor in such a condition of stage fright that she resembled a jointed doll more than an active child. She extended her small hand stiffly to the tall girl in blue who bent to greet her. But the new sister had heard too much of Chicken Little to stand on ceremony, and putting both arms around her, kissed her twice, once between the wondering eyes and once on her prim little mouth.
The child’s heart was captured immediately and she joyfully cuddled up close to this new relative, who drew her with her to a big chair relieving her own nervousness, at this interview with dignified Mrs. Morton, by petting Chicken Little.
Marian Gates soon noticed that Jane seemed specially interested in her hair. She detected small fingers feeling it cautiously and saw Mrs. Morton shake her head. Finally, Chicken Little reached up and whispered something. Marian laughed and nodded, then turning to Mrs. Morton explained: “She wants me to take my hair down.”
Mrs. Morton protested but Marian bent her head and told Jane to pull out the pins. The child’s fingers trembled and she touched the soft dark masses almost reverently.
When the last pin was out and the hair tumbled a shimmering cloud over Marian’s shoulders, over the chair arms, and on down to the floor, Mrs. Morton exclaimed in admiration and Chicken Little stood spellbound. Marian, blushing, got to her feet.
“There’s really too much,” she apologized. “It’s hard to do anything with.”
Chicken Little stepped forward fascinated, slipping her fingers among the shining strands.
“It is”—she gasped finally, “it is—clear below your knees—and it’s real!”