But I like
his looks--he's so nice and tall and straight."
"He used to have red hair, before it turned
gray," Hilary said, "so that must be a family
trait; your chin's like his, Paul, too,--so
square and determined."
"Is mine?" Patience demanded.
"You cut to bed, youngster," Pauline
commanded. "You're losing all your beauty
sleep; and really, you know--"
Patience went to stand before the mirror.
"Maybe I ain't--pretty--yet; but I'm going
to be--some day. Mr. Dayre says he likes
red hair, I asked him. He says for me not to
worry; I'll have them all sitting up and taking notice yet."
At which Pauline bore promptly down
upon her, escorting her in person to the door
of her own room. "And you'd better get to
bed pretty quickly, too, Hilary," she advised,
coming back. "You've had enough excitement for one day."
Mr. Paul Shaw stayed a week; it was a
busy week for the parsonage folk and for
some other people besides. Before it was
over, the story-book uncle had come to know
his nieces and Winton fairly thoroughly;
while they, on their side, had grown very well
acquainted with the tall, rather silent man,
who had a fashion of suggesting the most
delightful things to do in the most matter-of-fact manner.
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