was recalling
her speech about a lady's maid, and felt that the silence, so long and
oppressive, was ominous. If she had asked it as a favour, Mary would not
have hesitated an instant. The other girls often played barber for each
other, making a frolic out of the affair. But for _Ethelinda_, and for
_money_! That made a menial task of it, and her pride rose up in arms at
the thought.

"Now you _are_ mad! I knew you'd be!" came in anxious tones from the
other bed. "I wish I had kept my mouth shut."

"No, I'm not," asserted Mary, stoutly. "I'm making up my mind. I was
just thinking that you wouldn't do it if you were in my place, and I
wouldn't do it to keep myself from starving, if it were just for myself,
but it's for _Jack_. I'd get down and black the shoes of my worst enemy
for Jack, and under the circumstances, I'm very glad to accept your
offer, and I think it is very sweet of you to give me such a chance. You
shall have the best shampoo in my power to give as soon as you are ready
for it."

Later, she paused in her dressing, thinking maybe she had not been
gracious enough in expressing her appreciation, and said emphatically,
"Ethelinda, that was awfully good of you to think of a way to help me
out of my difficulty. Last night I was so down in the dumps, and so
disappointed over Jack's Christmas present, that I thought I never could
smile again. But now I'm so sure it is coming out all right that I am as
light-hearted as a bit of thistledown."

Ethelinda made some trivial reply, but immediately began to hum in a
happy undertone. She was feeling surprisingly light-hearted herself. The
role of benefactor was an unusual one, and she enjoyed the sensation.

For all her appreciative speeches, Mary approached her task that
afternoon with inward reluctance. Only a grim determination to do her
best to earn that dollar was her motive at first, and she helped herself
by imagining it was the Princess Winsome's sunny hair which she was
lathering and rubbing so vigorously. Ethelinda closed her eyes,
enjoying the touch of the light fingers, and wishing the operation
could be prolonged indefinitely. Somehow this intimate, personal contact
seemed to create a friendliness for each other they had never known
before. Presently Mary was chatting away almost as cordially as if it
were Elise's dusky curls she had in her fingers, or A.O.'s brown braids.

Under promise of secrecy she told of Elise's masquerade the night
before, and