At last she broke free, and seized two handfuls of his thick, dark brown hair, which she shook.
"Beat!" he said, as he pulled his hair straight with his fingers.

"I hate you!" She laughed with glee.
"Mind!" she said.

"I want to sit next to you." "I'd as lief be neighbours with a vixen," he said, nevertheless making place for her between him and Miriam.
"Did it ruffle his pretty hair, then!" she cried; and, with her hair-comb, she combed him straight.

"And his nice little moustache!" she exclaimed.

She tilted his head back and combed his young moustache.
"It's a wicked moustache, 'Postle," she said.