Life's Little Ironies

To the eyes of a man viewing it from behind, the nut-brown hair was a wonder and amystery.

Under the black beaver hat, surmounted by its tuft of black feathers, the longlocks, braided and twisted and coiled like the rushes of a basket, composed a rare, ifsomewhat barbaric, example of ingenious art.

One could understand such weavings andcoilings being wrought to last intact for a year, or even a calendar month; but that theyshould be all demolished regularly at bedtime, after a single day of permanence, seemed areckless waste of successful fabrication.And she had done it all herself, poor thing.

She had no maid, and it was almost the onlyaccomplishment she could boast of.

Hence the unstinted pains.