Mother did everything thoroughly.

She raked that fine comb over our scalps until she almost raised the blood.

She hadn't time to fool with tangles, and we had so much hair she didn't know what to do with all of it, anyway.

When she was busy talking she reached around too far and combed across our foreheads or raked the tip of an ear.
But on Sunday morning we forgot all that, when we walked down the aisle with shining curls hanging below our waists.

Mother was using the fine comb, when she looked up, and there stood Mrs.Freshett.