"How aunt would have abused poor Maggie if she hadn't had her beer," she remarked, as I sat down again after putting the jug against the door for safety.
"I shan't call you Maggie, as they call you that at home. I shall call you Margaret—Margaret with the glorious hair."
"Do you think it's really pretty—very pretty I mean?" she asked.
"Pretty," I echoed; "why it's the most wonderful and beautiful thing I have ever seen."
She gave a nervous little laugh, and shook her head so that her face was hidden in masses of gold.
"I wish I could see it: I can only feel it and know I have plenty of it;" and she frisked her head round so that the warm waves of colour rippled down my coat into my lap. "You may cut a little piece off if you like," she added with a sigh. I got out a pair of pocket scissors, and she folded her hands before her.
"You may take one skein; and mind you don't cut it off too near my head and leave an ugly gap with a stump at the top."
I put my hands gently under the soft warm hair, and choosing a strand rather darker than the rest cut a piece off the end.
"Let me feel it," she said—and I put the wisp into her hand.
She nodded contentedly and began fumbling at one of her stockings. I heard a snap, and presently she gave me a long cotton thread with which I tied the hair while she held it at each end.
"Aunt talks about giving up the house," she said, jerking her head in the direction of her home; "the lodgings don't pay much, and I heard her say that if she did she'd have to try and get me into some place for blind people—an asylum or something. Isn't it horrible?"
"Fancy shutting a sweet little golden darling like you up in
