Sidney sat down in a rush-bottomed chair, thrilling pleasantly. This was a high moment in her life--the clipping of the two despised braids; a declaration of independence, a symbol of a freedom as great as Mart's. And certainly Mart must be impressed by the way she had responded to the suggestion. "Afraid!" Well, Mart might laugh at things she said but she would see that she was quite her own mistress. Mart returned with a pair of huge shears. "Of course I can't do it as good as a regular barber but it'll be good enough for the first time and around here, anyway. Sure you don't mind? Your hair _is_ dandy!" While she was speaking she was unbraiding one pigtail. She shook it out. "It's awful thick and wavy. Mebbe you could sell it. I've heard of girls doing that but I don't know's there's any place around here. Sit still, now, so I can get it straight." Click. Sidney shut her eyes and sat rigid with a fearful certainty that she must suffer physical pain from the operation. Click. The touch of the steel against her neck sent icy shivers down her spine. "There, now--it's off," cried Mart, taking a step backward. "It's sort of crooked but that won't show when it's all loose. Go in gran'ma's room and take a look at yourself." Sidney turned and stared stupidly at the mass of hair in Martie's hand. It _was_ beautiful hair. For an instant she wanted to cry out in a violent protest; she checked it as it rose to her lips. Mart's eyes were on her. She managed instead a little laugh. "It feels so _funny_." "Oh, you'll get used to that. You'll like it. Take a look now and say I'm some barber." Gran'ma Calkins' old mirror, hung where the light shone strong upon it, reflected back to Sidney a strange and pleasing image. "Why _I like it_!" she cried, running her fingers through the mass. "It's--it's--so _different_. It's jolly." "You won't have to bother combing it much, either. I don't touch mine sometimes for days." Sidney, still staring at the stranger in the old mirror, laughed softly. "Wait until Nancy sees it. Nancy hair is straight as can be or I'll bet she'd cut hers. And Issy. Issy will have a fit when she knows. And Mrs. Milliken!" Here she broke off abruptly, not even in her triumph must she give hint to Mart of the League and its hold upon the house of Romley. "Oh, I like it!" she repeated exultingly. "And it won't be half the bother." She felt now that she was Mart's peer in point of abandon. "You don't think your Aunt Achsa will make a fuss, do you?" asked Martie, with tardy concern.