ght, it was
evident that it would attempt a downward trip.

The thought of home banished every other from her mind, and she
hastily drew inside and shook the white flakes from her glossy hair,
and began to arrange them in curls. But the unruly locks had blown
about so long in the wind, and got so cold and tangled and required so
much coaxing and brushing, that Little Wolf began to despair of ever
getting them in order.

Just then she observed on the dresser a bottle of what she supposed to
be pomatum, but in reality, a mixture for the lungs, made of honey and
other ingredients, which by exposure to the cold had partially
congealed. She caught it up and literally saturated her hair in the
contents and then with great spirit proceeded to her task.

At the first onset the brush stuck fast; "Dear me what ails it?" she
ejaculated throwing down the brush and making desperate dives with a
coarse tooth comb.

By this time her pretty tangled ringlets had stiffened into a striking
resemblance to cork screws interspersed with porcupine quills. By a
succession of impatient jerks she endeavored to bring the wayward mass
to submission; but the more she attempted to separate and arrange, the
closer the loving locks embraced each other, and she was beginning to
despair of conquering the difficulty, when she heard a light knock and
Mrs. Tinknor's kind voice said "May I come in?"

"O dear, yes," said Little Wolf, springing to the door, "do come in,
my dear Mrs. Tinknor, and tell me what this horrid pomade is made of."

"Why, dear child, what have you been doing to yourself? your hair
looks as if ten thousand furies had been tearing it."

"O Mrs. Tinknor, it is this horrid pomade."

Mrs. Tinknor's eye fell upon the offending preparation. "Why, bless
your heart my child," she exclaimed in dismay, "you have been using
Aunt Betsy's cough medicine."

Little Wolf threw herself on the bed convulsed with laughter, and Mrs.
Tinknor heartily joined in the merry peals.

"I came to tell you," said Mrs. Tinknor, when somewhat composed, "that
a steamer has just arrived, and Mr. Tinknor and Tom have gone out to
ascertain when she will return, if at all.

"O, I know she's going back right away," said Little Wolf springing
up. "I saw them hurrying off the freight; O dear, what shall I do with
my hair?" She was beginning to feel too anxious to laugh now.

"Come to my room, dear, it is warmer there and I can soon wash it out
for you. Now put