Even this morning, when for the first time she must
appear in school without having them freshly curled, the consciousness
of their weight upon her shoulders was a comfort to the child. As well
as she could without disarranging the set of it, she smoothed each long
curl into order as she walked along. The sun of autumn shone, lying
like a benediction upon the land whose fruits were gathered; among the
hips and haws in the hedges the birds, their family cares all over,
sang lightsomely, with vacant hearts. Happiness was in the air. Perhaps
someone would say how pretty the curls were, to-day. Perhaps, as once,
blessedly, before had happened, a lady riding slowly along the green
wayside might pull up her horse to inquire whose little girl she was,
to give her sixpence, to ask how much she would take for her beautiful
curls.

Ah, with what joy on that happy morning Dora had galloped home to give
the account to her mother! The sixpence had gone to buy the blue ribbon
Dora wore among her locks on Sundays; but how the mother had cheered
up! She had seemed almost well for half an hour that evening, and Dora
had told the tale again and again.

"I was a-walkin' along, like this here, not a thinkin' a mite o' my
ringolets, an' I see th' woman on th' horse keep a-smilin'. So I made
my manners, an' she pulled up 'r horse. 'Whu's little gal be yu?' she
say; 'an' where did yu git yer lovely hair?'"

Her mother had eaten two bits of bread-and-butter, that evening, and
had drunk the tea Dora all alone had made her. How happy it had been!
Perhaps it would all happen again.

Morning school over, she was putting on her hat among a struggling mass
of children anxious to get into the open, where there was a great blue
vault to shout under, and stones to shy, when the schoolmistress from
the empty class-room called her back. The woman stood by her silently
for a minute, one hand on the child's shoulder, the other moving
thoughtfully over the shining fell of hair.

"Don't shout and play with the others to-day, Dora," she said at
length. "Wait till they clear off, and then go right home."

"Yes, tacher."

The schoolmistress waited for another minute, smoothing the curls.

"You're only right a little girl, Dora, but you're the only one. You
must try to be good, and look after poor little Jack and Jim, and your
father--and be a comfort."

"Yes, tacher." Dora took courage beneath the caressing hand: "I like to
be a comfit to mother best