It s red, ain t it? he said.
The girl let the braid drop back with a sigh that seemed to come from
her very toes and to exhale forth all the sorrows of the ages.
Yes, it s red, she said resignedly. Now you see why I can t be
perfectly happy. Nobody could who has red hair. I don t mind the other
things so much--the freckles and the green eyes and my skinniness. I
can imagine them away. I can imagine that I have a beautiful rose-leaf
complexion and lovely starry violet eyes. But I _cannot_ imagine that
red hair away. I do my best. I think to myself, Now my hair is a
glorious black, black as the raven s wing. But all the time I _know_ it
is just plain red and it breaks my heart. It will be my lifelong sorrow.
I read of a girl once in a novel who had a lifelong sorrow but it wasn t
red hair. Her hair was pure gold rippling back from her alabaster brow.
What is an alabaster brow? I never could find out. Can you tell me?
Well now, I m afraid I can t, said Matthew, who was getting a little
dizzy. He felt as he had once felt in his rash youth when another boy
had enticed him on the merry-go-round at a picnic.
Well, whatever it was it must have been something nice because she was
divinely beautiful. Have you ever imagined what it must feel like to be
divinely beautiful?
Well now, no, I haven t, confessed Matthew ingenuously.
I have, often. Which would you rather be if you had the
choice--divinely beautiful or dazzlingly clever or angelically good?
Well now, I--I don t know exactly.
Neither do I. I can never decide. But it doesn t make much real
difference for it isn t likely I ll ever be either. It s certain I ll
never be angelically good. Mrs. Spencer says--oh, Mr. Cuthbert! Oh, Mr.
Cuthbert!! Oh, Mr. Cuthbert!!!
That was not what Mrs. Spencer had said; neither had the child tumbled
out of the buggy nor had Matthew done anything astonishing. They had
simply rounded a curve in the road and found themselves in the Avenue.
16