Betsy submitted, and in a twinkling the tight pigtail was unbraided.
“First we must get rid of the dust of the train. Did you ever have a real shampoo?”
“No’m, I guess not. I never saw one.—Is it side-combs?”
Aunt Kate laughed merrily.
“I’ll show you.”
To Betsy’s surprise she was taken to the bathroom, and introduced to the wonders of a beaten egg, warm water, a delightful, soapy lather, more warm water, then cold, and last, a brisk towel-rubbing and fanning.
Out of it all the brown hair emerged, soft and fluffy, with almost a desire to kink at the ends, and a fresh black ribbon was tied jauntily into the flowing meshes.
Betsy looked at herself critically.
“It seems like I was in a picter. But it’ll snarl like sixty.”
“I’ll show you how to braid it nicely when you are playing, but this is for Uncle Ben to see. Now, just let me get the whole effect:—underwear, stockings, slippers, hair,—all right, and now the frock can go on.... Stop a minute, though; let me look at your finger-nails.—My little Betsy, we’ve some work ahead of us here!”