"Your head feels hot, Momsey," she said anxiously. "Does it
ache?"
"A wee bit, honey," confessed Mrs. Sherwood.
"Let me take the pins out and rub your poor head, dear," said
Nan. "You know, I'm a famous 'massagist.' Come do, dear."
"If you like, honey."
Thus it was that, a little later, when Mr. Sherwood came home
with feet that dragged more than usual on this evening, he opened
the door upon a very beautiful picture indeed.
His wife's hair was "a glory of womanhood," for it made a tent
all about her, falling quite to the floor as she sat in her low
chair. Out of this canopy she looked up at the brawny, serious
man, roguishly.
"Am I not a lazy, luxurious person, Papa Sherwood?" she demanded.
"Nan is becoming a practical maid, and I presume I put upon the
child dreadfully, she is good-natured, like you, Robert."
"Aye, I know our Nan gets all her good qualities from me,
Jessie," said her husband. "If she favored you she would, of
course, be a very hateful child."
He kissed his wife tenderly. As Nan said, he always "cleaned up"
at the mills and "came home kissable."
"I ought to be just next door to an angel, if I absorbed the
virtues of both my parents," declared Nan briskly, beginning to
braid the wonderful hair which she had already brushed.
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