The palace of delight seemed opening before the boy. No one can rightly understand his satisfaction at this late day. The mothers, you see, used to cut hair as they thought was right, and nearly every mother had a different idea except those whose idea was simply to cut it off. They had to wait awhile. Charles sat down in a padded chair, had a large white towel pinned close up under his chin, his hair combed out with the softest touch imaginable. The barber's hands were silken soft; his mother's were hard and rough. Snip, snip, snip, comb, brush, sprinkle some fragrance out of a bottle with a pepper-sauce cork--bulbs and sprays had not been invented. Oh, how delightful it was! He really did not want to get down and go home. Mr. Reed had been talking to an acquaintance. The other chair being vacant, he had his beard trimmed. He was not sure whether he would have it taken off this summer, though he generally did. He turned his head a little and looked at his son. He wasn't as poetical looking, but really, he was a nice, clean, wholesome, and--yes--manly boy. But he blushed scarlet. "That looks something like," was his father's comment. What a nice broad forehead Charles had! "He's a nice boy," said the barber in a low tone. "Boy to be proud of. I wish there were more like him." Mr. Reed paid his bill and they went to the store. Then they strolled on down the street. But Charles was in distress lest the pungent berry and odoriferous root should take the barber's sweetness out of him. He was puzzled, too. It seemed to him he ought to say something grateful to his father. He was so very, very glad at heart. But it was so hard to talk to his father. He always envied Jim and Ben Underhill their father. He had found it easy to talk to him on several occasions. "I must say you are improved," his father began presently. "You mother has too much to do bothering about household affairs. And you're getting to be a big boy. Why don't you find some boys to go with? There are those Underhills. You're too big to play with girls." "But mother doesn't like boys," hesitatingly. "You should have been a girl!" declared his father testily. "But since you're not, do try to be a little more manly." The father hardly knew what to say himself. And yet he felt that he did love his son. They were just at the area gate. Charles caught his father's hand. "I'm so glad," breathlessly. "The boys have laughed at me, and you--you've been so good." Mr. Reed was really touched. They entered the basement. Mrs. Reed, like Mrs. Gargery, still had on her apron. Charles put the pepper in the canister, his mother took care of the horseradish. Then he sat down with his history. "For pity's sake, Abner Reed, what have you done to that child! He looks like a scarecrow! He's shaved thin in one place and great tufts left in another. I was going to cut his hair this very evening. And I'll trim it to some decency now." She sprang up for the shears.