“Whatever other people’s Shenacs do,” said Hamish laughing.
Shenac Dhu made as if she would charge him with the great shears.
“Give them to Christie,” said Shenac Bhan. “What a work to make about nothing!”
“She does not mean to do it yet,” said Shenac Dhu; but she handed the shears to her sister.
“I don’t like to do it, Shenac,” said Mrs More. “Think how long it will take to grow again; and it is beautiful hair,” she added, as she came near and passed her fingers through it.
“Nonsense, Christie, she’s not in earnest,” persisted Shenac Dhu.
With a quick, impatient motion, Shenac Bhan took the shears from her cousin’s hand and severed one—two—three of the bright curls from the mass. Shenac Dhu uttered a cry.
“There! did I not tell you?” cried Dan, forgetting everything else in his triumph over Shenac Dhu. Hamish turned and went out without a word.
“There,” said Shenac Bhan; “you must do it now, Christie.”
Mrs More took the great shears and began to cut without a word; and no one spoke again till the curls lay in a shining heap at their feet. Then Shenac Dhu drew a long breath, and said,—