"Sally!" said Miss Benson, "my hair is nearly white. The last
time I looked it was only pepper-and-salt. What must I do?"
"Do--why, what would the wench do?" asked Sally contemptuously.
"Ye're never going to be taken in, at your time of life, by
hair-dyes and such gimcracks, as can only take in young girls
whose wisdom-teeth are not cut."
"And who are not very likely to want them," said Miss Benson
quietly. "No! but you see, Sally, it's very awkward having such
grey hair, and feeling so young. Do you know, Sally, I've as
great a mind for dancing, when I hear a lively tune on the
street-organs, as ever; and as great a mind to sing when I'm
happy--to sing in my old way, Sally, you know."
"Ay, you had it from a girl," said Sally; "and many a time, when
the door's been shut, I did not know if it was you in the
parlour, or a big bumble-bee in the kitchen, as was making that
drumbling noise. I heard you at it yesterday."
"But an old woman with grey hair ought not to have a fancy for
dancing or singing," continued Miss Benson.
"Whatten nonsense are ye talking?" said Sally, roused to
indignation. "Calling yoursel' an old woman when you're better
than ten years younger than me; and many a girl has grey hair at
five-and-twenty."
"But I'm more than five-and-twenty, Sally--I'm fifty-seven next
May!"
"More shame for ye, then, not to know better than to talk of
dyeing your hair.
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