"Her cheeks are as hot as fire. She ought to have ice on
her head, and how can she when her bang is so thick? Cut it all off,
every bit, and then I will let you cut mine."
"You had better give ze child her way," said Dr. Hilary. "She's in no
state to be fretted with triffles [trifles, the doctor meant], and in ze
end it will be well; for ze fever infection might harbor in zat doll's
head as well as elsewhere, and I should have to disinfect it, which
would be bad for ze skin of her."
"She isn't a doll," cried Amy, overhearing him; "she's my child, and you
sha'n't call her names." She hugged Mabel tight in her arms, and glared
at Dr. Hilary defiantly.
So Katy with pitiful fingers slashed away at Mabel's blond wig till her
head was as bare as a billiard-ball; and Amy, quite content, patted her
child while her own locks were being cut, and murmured, "Perhaps your
hair will all come out in little round curls, darling, as Johnnie Carr's
did;" then she fell into one of the quietest sleeps she had yet had.
It was the day after this that Katy, coming in from a round of errands,
found Mrs. Ashe standing erect and pale, with a frightened look in her
eyes, and her back against Amy's door, as if defending it from somebody.
Confronting her was Madame Frulini, the _padrona_ of the hotel. Madame's
cheeks were red, and her eyes bright and fierce; she was evidently in a
rage about something, and was pouring out a torrent of excited Italian,
with now and then a French or English word slipped in by way of
punctuation, and all so rapidly that only a trained ear could have
followed or grasped her meaning.
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