Twice she took up a pair of scissors, and each time laid them down again, wondering if it were little short of a madcap freak; then, shrinking from the grinding hiss of the cutting blades, she clipped with feverish haste the hair that had been her pride. It was a difficult task, and but a rough job at best when finished, but the change in her appearance was marvelous; the metamorphosis, so successful, almost drowned the lingering regret. She drew a cap over her shorn head, packed her own garments and a few of her brother's in a large bag, buttoned her newmarket coat tight up to her throat, and once more surveyed herself in the glass. From head to foot she was ready. Ah, the truthful glass betrayed the weak point in her armor--the boots. In an instant she had exchanged them for a pair of Alan's. Now she was ready to pass her mother as Allis in her own long cloak, and appear before Dixon without it as a boy. That was her clever little scheme.
Before going up to her room she had asked that the stableman might be at the door with a buggy when she came down, to take her to the station. When she descended he was waiting.
“I'm taking some clothes back with me, mother,” she said. “Let Thomas bring the bag down, please.”
“You're getting dreadfully mannish in your appearance, daughter; it's that cap.”
“I have to wear something like this about in the open;” answered Allis.
“But for traveling, girl, it seems out of place. Let me put a hat on you. I declare I thought it was Alan when you came into the room.”
“I can't wait; this will do. I must be off to catch my train. Goodbye, mother; wish me good luck,” and she hurried out and took her seat in the buggy.
Some hours later Dixon, sitting in his cottage, oppressed by the misfortune that had come to his stable, heard a knock at the door. When he opened it a neatly dressed, slim youth stepped into the uncertain light that stretched out reluctantly from a rather unfit lamp on the center table.
“Is this Mr. Dixon?” the boy's voice piped modestly.
The boy removed his cap, took the proffered chair, and said somewhat hesitatingly, “I heard you wanted a riding boy.”
“Well, I do, an' I don't. I don't know as I said I did, but,”--and he scanned the little figure closely, “if I could get a decent lightweight that hadn't the hands of a blacksmith, an' the morals of a burglar, I might give him a trial. Did you ever do any ridin'--what stable was you in?”