“You needn’t think I didn’t know about my hair, before!” she said fiercely, between sobs. “I’ve always hated it, long before I heard what you and Jack said. But I’ve got it fixed now. It ain’t stiff, or thin, or red, any more!”
Barbara waited until the first shower was over. “How did you do it, dear?” she asked, at last.
“Manicure scissors and liquid blacking,” said Gassy, with a fresh storm of sobs. “I don’t care if I do look awful! I looked just as bad before. Jack said I’d never have another happy moment if I knew how I looked. And I do. I’m the ugliest girl in Auburn,—the very homeliest!”
Barbara’s quick thoughts flew to the sanitarium at Chariton. Was it possible that tragedies like this were of common occurrence in her mother’s life? It was only a child’s tragedy, but it was a very real one; and the tenderest wisdom and the wisest tenderness were needed to dispel it. Her mind went back to the sweet lips and the loving arms that had soothed so many of her own baby griefs. Housekeeping had been such a small part of her mother’s life; was she, Barbara, capable of being a substitute in a case like this?
“I’m sorry you heard what we said,” she replied, tenderly stroking the sticky head. “Of course you know that we always exaggerate when we joke,—Jack and I,—and we said what we did in fun. Your hair isn’t as pretty now as it will be when you get a little older; then it will turn dark,—red hair always does,—and you may have real auburn, which is the prettiest shade in the world.”
“It isn’t just my hair,—it’s all of me,” sobbed Gassy. “I’m so dang homely!”
Barbara laughed, a merry, hearty laugh, that carried more comfort than a million words to the aching little heart. “You blessed chicken! You’re not so homely.”
“But I want to be pretty like you; not skinny, and awkward, and tight little pig-tails of hair! I’d just love to shake curls out of my neck, the way the other girls do.”
“Well, not everybody can have curly hair; I’m not that lucky, either. But I was thinner than you when I was your age, and far more awkward. You’ll grow fatter in a year or two. And in the meantime, dear, be glad of the pretty things about yourself,—your clear, wide-open eyes, your dainty little ears, your high-arched instep. You have a very sweet mouth, too, when you are happy.”
Gassy snuggled a shade closer to her sister. “I like you, Barbara,” she said, her proud little voice strangely softened.