It was too dark in the hall for her to notice Erica’s guilty little head, but at the sound of the unexpected voice below her the girl jumped, and one of the heavy red braids slipped through her clutching fingers. Miss Charity gave a stifled shriek as the long, sinuous object fell limply at her feet. Perhaps she thought it was a snake; but of a certainty her wildest imaginings never reached within a far cry of the truth. She gathered her full skirts higher about her ankles and, after a perceptible hesitation, bent over the puzzling object on the floor. Then, though she was not at all the kind of woman who screams easily, she uttered something that was very much like another little shriek. “Erica,” she asked, in a much severer voice, “just _what_ have you been doing this time?” Erica, having by now arrived at the foot of the ladder, plunged eagerly to her own defense. “I don’t see why only boys should be comfortable, Aunt Charity. I really don’t,” she said, vehemently. “My hair was heavy and hot. I got so I simply couldn’t bear it any longer. And all that brushing and _brushing_ every night of my life! It’s such a waste of time. And—and so I cut it off. It’ll grow again, of course—probably thicker than——” She stopped, her voice, for all its eager conviction, trailing off limply into silence at the expression on her aunt’s face. “I—I’m sorry if you really feel badly about it, Aunt Charity,” she offered at last. “I never know what you’ll do next, Erica Folger,” Miss Charity complained, despairingly. “You had nice hair, and I’ve always tried to see that you kept it in good condition. Her hair’s a woman’s crowning glory, so the Bible says. But of course, if you want to make yourself look a fright. Well, it’s done now and there’s no more to be said about it. I hope you’ll enjoy it.” Erica put her hands up protestingly to her head. She had thought it looked rather—rather _pretty_, even if she had never seen a girl wear her hair short before. But now, under Miss Charity’s scathing words, her own enthusiasm fell suddenly flat, like a pricked toy balloon. Perhaps she had just been silly and impulsive again. “Take that pail of water downstairs, and be careful you don’t spill it all over everything,” Miss Folger ordered, shortly. She had said her say on the other subject, and Erica knew by experience that she would not be apt to refer to it again. That was one of the nice things about Aunt Charity—she never nagged. Perhaps, though, Erica further reflected, uncomfortably, that made it all the worse when she did these unconsidered, impetuous things Aunt Charity worried over.