“She’s always telling me not to trouble about it,” said Tom, mystified. “I suppose she’s just sort of making fun about it because it’s red.” “I don’t call it red,” answered Sidney. “It’s a dandy colour. You never know what Mumsie has in her head when she says things like that. She’s always having little jokes to herself. She’s funny.” “She’s terribly nice,” said Tom. “And--and she’s the prettiest lady in Amesville, too, Sid.” “You bet she is!” One February morning, when Tom had trudged through a raging blizzard to the high school only to learn when he reached it that the “no school” whistle had blown a half-hour before, he decided to keep on to Sidney’s house. It was a good mile out there from the school and the wind and snow were cutting up high jinks, but Tom scorned the trolley cars, not altogether from motives of economy, and walked, fighting every step of the way. When he reached the Morrises the maid told him that Master Sidney had just gone downtown. Tom was turning away when Mrs. Morris appeared and insisted on his coming in. “Sid won’t be more than a half-hour,” she said. “He went in to get something for his wireless set.” (A wireless receiving set had been amongst his Christmas presents and both he and Tom were greatly interested in it.) “Come in and get warm, Tom.” Then, seeing his condition, “Why, Tom Pollock!” she exclaimed. “I believe you walked!” “Yes’m, I did,” answered Tom apologetically. “Of all things on a day like this!” Mrs. Morris shook her head hopelessly. “Well, boys have no sense, anyway. Now take that coat right off and---- And no overshoes, either! Tom Pollock, you ought to be spanked and put to bed!” “Yes’m,” agreed Tom sheepishly. Five minutes later, divested of his wet clothes and chastely attired in a voluminous bath-robe of Mr. Morris’s, he was toasting in front of a big fire in the library and drinking beef tea that Mrs. Morris made by dropping a mysterious dark-brown tablet into a cup of hot water. It was very nice, and its effect, or perhaps the combined effects of the hard tussle with the blizzard and the warmth of the fire, was to make Tom feel delightfully drowsy and comfortable. When, presently, he had finished the beef tea and Mrs. Morris had returned from bearing away the empty cup, an unwonted boldness came to him. “I wish,” he said as Mrs. Morris sank into a chair at the other side of the hearth, “I wish you’d tell me, please, what’s the matter with my hair.” She looked at it concernedly. Tom, however, saw the laughter in her eyes. “Is it bothering you again, Tom?” she asked. “I’m so sorry!” “It--it don’t bother me at all,” he responded desperately. “Only you’re all the time telling me not to let it! Is it just because it’s red?” Then Mrs. Morris laughed deliciously. “No, Tom, it isn’t,” she said. “I suppose I’ve been horribly mean to tease you about it, haven’t I?”