"D'you see how
straggly my hair is gettin'? Do you think you could trim it a mite?"
"Why, of course I can, Uncle Ira," she rejoined cheerfully.
"I swan! You be a likely gal, Ida May," said the old man, both
reflectively and gratefully. "What would Prue and me do without you?
And no other girl but just you would have begun to fill the bill o'
lading. That's as sure as sure! See now," he went on, with emphasis,
"suppose you'd been such a one as that half-crazy critter that come
here yesterday! Where'd Prudence and me been with her in the house?
Well!"
"She--she may not be as bad as she seemed under those particular
circumstances," Sheila said hesitatingly. "If she had come here--had
come here first and you and Aunt Prue had not known me at all--"
"I swan! Don't say no more! Don't say no more, I tell ye!" gasped
Cap'n Ira. "It's bad luck to talk such a way; I do believe it is.
Come on, Ida May. You tackle my hair and let's see what you can do
with it. I know right well you'll make it look better than Prudence
used to do."
Cap'n Ira was talking for effect, and the result he wished to
achieve was bringing a smile to Sheila's face and a brighter light
into her eyes, the violet hues of which were far more subdued than
he desired.
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