I do not mean to say that Alice never did any wrong thing. She was,
however, so sorry for a fault, she repented so soon, and then did
all she could to repair it, that no one could help forgiving her.
She had a trick of squinting now and then. Her mother thought that
my curls perplexed the bright eyes under them; and, to prevent the
evil, drew up all the pretty locks in a bunch, tied them together,
and said, "Now, Alice, your hair is all out of the way, and you will
not squint."

Alice was annoyed by this; she was a little vain of my beauty, and
the disregard of her looks, which she thought these words indicated,
fretted her.

Her father saw this, and, to make the tying less disagreeable, said
to her, one day, "Alice, I see you don't like to have your hair tied
up; you don't think it reasonable. Come now, bear it patiently for a
month; and, at the end of that time, I will give you the little work
box I am ornamenting with straw."

Alice agreed, and promised to be patient, and to keep her hair tied
up.

During the month, it happened that Alice was invited to a little
party of girls at her aunt's.

Alice hoped that her father and mother would absolve her from the
promise, that afternoon; but no, her mother only tied up her hair
with a new ribbon for the occasion. I, with all my beautiful curls,
was drawn away from her dear face as far as possible. Alice found
this hard to bear.