Peter must have his hair cut soon," said mother. "It is growing very long."

"Yes, it is," said Polly. "I shall have to braid it."

"That will hardly do, Polly. Boys do not have their hair braided. They have it cut."

"I cannot take him to the barber's today," said father. "I cannot take him tomorrow. The next day is Sunday. And Monday is a holiday."

"Oh, dear!" said Peter. "Can't you ever take me?"

"That is only four days, Peter," said Polly.

"I know it, Polly. But my hair will grow very long. I do not wish it braided. Oh, dear! Oh, dear!"

"I will not braid it, Peter. I was only teasing you."

"Father," Peter said, "let me go to the barber's alone. I know where it is."

There was no barber where Peter and Polly lived. When Peter had his hair cut, he went to the nearest village. Peter and Polly always called this "Large Village."

"How can you get to Large Village, Peter?"

"I can walk," said Peter.

"It is four miles," said Polly. "I guess you can't walk so far as that. I think you would stop when you came to Farmer Brown's."

"That is just halfway," said Peter. "I think I should not stop, either. I could not get my hair cut there."

"You wait a little while, Peter," said father. "The blacksmith is going to Large Village today. Perhaps he will take you with him. I will go over to his shop to see him. Then I will telephone to you."

"Oh, goody, goody!" cried Peter. "I hope he will take me. I like to ride with him."

In a few minutes the telephone rang.

"You may answer it, Peter," said mother. "Perhaps it is father telephoning to you."

"Hello," said Peter. "Oh, will he take me? Yes, I will get ready now. Goodbye."

"What did father say?" asked mother.

"He said that the blacksmith will take me. I must go to father's store now."

Peter ran to the store. Father was busy with some customers.

"Here is your money," he said. "Keep it safe. Now go outside and watch for the blacksmith. He will soon be along."

When the blacksmith came, Peter climbed up into his wagon. The seat was high. Peter liked that.

The blacksmith had two horses. Peter wished to drive them. So he took hold of the ends of the reins. He played that he was driving.

The blacksmith and Peter talked of many things. They talked about shoeing horses and mending wagons. They spoke of ponies. They spoke of boiling springs.

And then they talked about hair that was too long, and about going to the barber's. At last they were in Large Village. They came to the barber's shop.

"Here we are, Peter," said the blacksmith. "Have you your money? I shall come back for you in a little while. You wait for me."

Peter went in. He said to one man, "I must have my hair cut. Will you cut it? Here is the money to pay you."

"Yes, I will," said the barber. "Climb up into this chair. How will you have it cut — short or long?"

"It is long now," said Peter. "So I will have it cut short."

"Very well," said the man. "Short it shall be." And he began to snip, snip, snip with his shears.

At last the hair was cut. Peter jumped down from the chair. He put on his cap. It did not fit. It was too large. He felt of the back of his head.

His hair was stiff and short. He climbed up on the chair and looked in the mirror. "Oh, oh!" he cried. "My hair is short like father's. I have always wished it to be like that."

"You said to cut it short," answered the barber. "Was that wrong? Won't your father like it?"

"Maybe he will not care," said Peter. "And anyway, I am glad. There is the blacksmith. I must go now. Goodbye."

"See my hair," said Peter to the blacksmith.

"I can't see much, Peter. You must have left most of it behind you. Is that the way you were told to have it cut?"

"I wasn't told," said Peter. "Maybe my father will not care, and I like it." Peter got out of the wagon at father's store.

When father saw him, he said, "Well, I never! Now whose boy is this?"

"Oh father! Don't you know me? It is Peter. It is your boy."

"So it is," said father. "But where is your hair? Your cap is too large."

"My hair is at the barber's. Do you care? I like it short."

"No, Peter. I do not, much. But I think that mother may care. She likes it cut the other way. It is my fault, not yours. I forgot to tell you what to say to the barber. You wait for me here. I am going home to dinner in a minute.

"We will go together and tell mother about it. She will laugh. You do look funny. Your hair will grow before winter, so perhaps she will not mind.