The leads and rags were painfully removed, together with much hair, the operation being punctuated by a series of squeaks, squeals, and shrieks on the part of Rebecca and a series of warnings from Alice, who wished the preliminaries to be kept secret from the aunts, that they might the more fully appreciate the radiant result. Then came the unbraiding, and then--dramatic moment--the “combing out;” a difficult, not to say impossible process, in which the hairs that had resisted the earlier stages almost gave up the ghost. The long front strands had been wound up from various angles and by various methods, so that, when released, they assumed the strangest, most obstinate, most unexpected attitudes. When the comb was dragged through the last braid, the wild, tortured, electric hairs following, and then rebounding from it in a bristling, snarling tangle. Massachusetts gave one encompassing glance at the State o' Maine's head, and announced her intention of going home to breakfast! She was deeply grieved at the result of her attempted beautifying, but she felt that meeting Miss Miranda Sawyer at the morning meal would not mend matters in the least, so slipping out of the side door, she ran up Guide Board hill as fast as her legs could carry her. The State o' Maine, deserted and somewhat unnerved, sat down before the glass and attacked her hair doggedly and with set lips, working over it until Miss Jane called her to breakfast; then, with a boldness born of despair, she entered the dining room, where her aunts were already seated at table. To “draw fire” she whistled, a forbidden joy, which only attracted more attention, instead of diverting it. There was a moment of silence after the grotesque figure was fully taken in; then came a moan from Jane and a groan from Miranda. “What have you done to yourself?” asked Miranda sternly. “Made an effort to be beautiful and failed!” jauntily replied Rebecca, but she was too miserable to keep up the fiction. “Oh, Aunt Miranda, don't scold. I'm so unhappy! Alice and I rolled up my hair to curl it for the raising. She said it was so straight I looked like an Indian!” “Mebbe you did,” vigorously agreed Miranda, “but 't any rate you looked like a Christian Injun, 'n' now you look like a heathen Injun; that's all the difference I can see. What can we do with her, Jane, between this and nine o'clock?” “We'll all go out to the pump just as soon as we're through breakfast,” answered Jane soothingly. “We can accomplish consid'rable with water and force.” Rebecca nibbled her corn-cake, her tearful eyes cast on her plate and her chin quivering. “Don't you cry and red your eyes up,” chided Miranda quite kindly; “the minute you've eat enough run up and get your brush and comb and meet us at the back door.” “I wouldn't care myself how bad I looked,” said Rebecca, “but I can't bear to be so homely that I shame the State of Maine!”