Early in the afternoon Nance Molloy, with a drab-colored shawl over her
head and something tightly clasped in one bare, chapped fist, rushed
forth on a mysterious mission. When she returned, she carried a
pasteboard box hugged to her heart. The thought of tripping her fairy
measure in worn-out shoes tied on with strings, had become so intolerable
to her that she had bartered her holiday for a pair of white slippers.
Mr. Lavinski had advanced the money, and she was to work six hours a day,
instead of two, until she paid the money back.
But she was in no mood to reckon the cost, as she prepared for the
evening festivities. So great was her energy and enthusiasm, that the
contagion spread to the little Snawdors, each of whom submitted with
unprecedented meekness to a "wash all over." Nance dressed herself last,
wrapping her white feet and legs in paper to keep them clean until the
great hour should arrive.
"Why, Nance Molloy! You look downright purty!" Mrs. Snawdor exclaimed,
when she came up after assisting Mr. Demry with his refreshments. "I
never would 'a' believed it!"
Nance laughed happily. The effect had been achieved by much experimenting
before the little mirror over her soap box. The mirror had a wave in it
which gave the beholder two noses, but Nance had kept her pink and white
ideal steadily in mind, and the result was a golden curl over a bare
shoulder. The curl would have been longer had not half of it remained in
a burnt wisp around the poker.
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