116 TROTTY’S WEDDING TOUR.

The curlers —two of them—took hold of Rye as if she
had been a basketful of ropes, and twisted her hair all up into
a hundred little curl-papers. She felt convinced that they
would twist her head off. She put her hand around, and felt
of her neck to see if it were dislocated ; but, finding it quite
sound, gathered courage to peep at herself in the glass. Such
a sight!

“You look like Medusa,” said Prim, who studied my-
thology.

“ Who’s he?” asked Rye.

‘She was a lady who wore a nightcap of white snakes,’
said Prim, promptly, suiting the information to the occasion.
But that was just what Rye looked like. It made her fairly
faint, she looked so!

““T suppose you “ll—take ’em off?’ she breathlessly
asked.

“‘ Gracious me, miss!” said the curlers, and laughed till,
indeed, they were in imminent danger of twisting her neck
off. When they had finished laughing, they took hold of her
with hot irons as if she had been actually a rye fritter, and
fried her head on both sides. The irons sizzled and snapped.
The curl-papers steamed. A hot breath crept in among the
roots of her hair.

“ They will set me on fire!” thought Rye, and turned as
pale as her snaky nightcap. Even Prim was frightened, and
began to wonder if they ought to have done this. When one
of the curlers — busy watching a customer at the end of the