"You've got a good memory, aunt," said Ferdinand with a forced laugh.
"Now ef your hair had grown darker, I shouldn't have wondered,"
pursued Aunt Deborah; "but it aint often black turns to brown."
"That's so, aunt, but I can explain it," said Ferdinand, after a
slight pause.
"How was it?"
"You know the French barbers can change your hair to any shade you
want."
"Can they?"
"Yes, to be sure. Now--don't laugh at me, aunt--a young lady I used
to like didn't fancy dark hair, so I went to a French barber, and he
changed the color for me in three months."
"You don't say!"
"Fact, aunt; but he made me pay him well too."
"How much did you give him?"
"Fifty dollars, aunt."
"That's what I call wasteful," said Aunt Deborah, disapprovingly.
"Couldn't you be satisfied with the nat'ral color of your hair? To
my mind black's handsomer than brown."
"You're right, aunt. I wouldn't have done it if it hadn't been for
Miss Percival."
"Are you engaged to her?"
"No, Aunt Deborah. The fact was, I found she wasn't domestic, and
didn't know anything about keeping house, but only cared for dress,
so I drew off, and she's married to somebody else now."
"I'm glad to hear it," said Deborah, emphatically. "The jade! She
wouldn't have been a proper wife for you. You want some good girl
that's willin' to go into the kitchen, and look after things, and not
carry all she's worth on her back.
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