initial commit of ebook 3491HEADmain

2 files changed, 10969 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/old/missy10.txt b/old/missy10.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f8721b9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/missy10.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,10969 @@
+*****The Project Gutenberg Etext of Missy, by Dana Gatlin*****
+
+Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check
+the laws for your country before redistributing these files!!!
+
+Please take a look at the important information in this header.
+We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an
+electronic path open for the next readers.
+
+Please do not remove this.
+
+This should be the first thing seen when anyone opens the book.
+Do not change or edit it without written permission.  The words
+are carefully chosen to provide users with the information they
+need about what they can legally do with the texts.
+
+
+**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**
+
+**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**
+*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations*
+
+Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and
+further information is included below.  We need your donations.
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a 501(c)(3)
+organization with EIN [Employee Identification Number] 64-6221541
+
+As of 12/12/00 contributions are only being solicited from people in:
+Colorado, Connecticut, Idaho, Indiana, Iowa,
+Kentucky, Louisiana, Massachusetts, Montana,
+Nevada, Oklahoma, South Carolina, South Dakota,
+Texas, Vermont, and Wyoming.
+
+As the requirements for other states are met,
+additions to this list will be made and fund raising
+will begin in the additional states.  Please feel
+free to ask to check the status of your state.
+
+International donations are accepted,
+but we don't know ANYTHING about how
+to make them tax-deductible, or
+even if they CAN be made deductible,
+and don't have the staff to handle it
+even if there are ways.
+
+These donations should be made to:
+
+Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+PMB 113
+1739 University Ave.
+Oxford, MS 38655-4109
+
+
+Title: Missy
+
+Author: Dana Gatlin
+
+Official Release Date: October, 2002  [Etext #3491]
+[Yes, we are about one year ahead of schedule]
+[The actual date this file first posted = 05/20/01]
+
+Edition: 10
+
+Language: English
+
+*****The Project Gutenberg Etext of Missy, by Dana Gatlin*****
+*****This file should be named missy10.txt or missy10.zip*****
+
+Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, missy11.txt
+VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, missy10a.txt
+
+This etext was produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and
+the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
+
+
+Project Gutenberg Etexts are usually created from multiple editions,
+all of which are in the Public Domain in the United States, unless a
+copyright notice is included.  Therefore, we usually do NOT keep any
+of these books in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+We are now trying to release all our books one year in advance
+of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing.
+Please be encouraged to send us error messages even years after
+the official publication date.
+
+Please note:  neither this list nor its contents are final till
+midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement.
+The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at
+Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month.  A
+preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment
+and editing by those who wish to do so.
+
+Most people start at our sites at:
+http://gutenberg.net
+http://promo.net/pg
+
+
+Those of you who want to download any Etext before announcement
+can surf to them as follows, and just download by date; this is
+also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the
+indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an
+announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter.
+
+http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext02
+or
+ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext02
+
+Or /etext01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90
+
+Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want,
+as it appears in our Newsletters.
+
+
+Information about Project Gutenberg (one page)
+
+We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work.  The
+time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours
+to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright
+searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc.  This
+projected audience is one hundred million readers.  If our value
+per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2
+million dollars per hour this year as we release fifty new Etext
+files per month, or 500 more Etexts in 2000 for a total of 3000+
+If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total
+should reach over 300 billion Etexts given away by year's end.
+
+The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext
+Files by December 31, 2001.  [10,000 x 100,000,000 = 1 Trillion]
+This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers,
+which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users.
+
+At our revised rates of production, we will reach only one-third
+of that goal by the end of 2001, or about 3,333 Etexts unless we
+manage to get some real funding.
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created
+to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium.
+
+We need your donations more than ever!
+
+As of 05/16/01 contributions are only being solicited from people in:
+Connecticut, Louisiana, Maine, Missouri, Oklahoma, Colorado,
+Delaware, Hawaii, Idaho, Indiana, Iowa, Montana, Nebraska,
+South Dakota, Texas, Vermont, Wyoming, South Carolina.
+
+We have filed in about 45 states now, but these are the only ones
+that have responded.
+
+As the requirements for other states are met,
+additions to this list will be made and fund raising
+will begin in the additional states.  Please feel
+free to ask to check the status of your state.
+
+In answer to various questions we have received on this:
+
+We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork
+to legally request donations in all 50 states.  If
+your state is not listed and you would like to know
+if we have added it since the list you have, just ask.
+
+While we cannot solicit donations from people in
+states where we are not yet registered, we know
+of no prohibition against accepting donations
+from donors in these states who approach us with
+an offer to donate.
+
+
+International donations are accepted,
+but we don't know ANYTHING about how
+to make them tax-deductible, or
+even if they CAN be made deductible,
+and don't have the staff to handle it
+even if there are ways.
+
+All donations should be made to:
+
+Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+PMB 113
+1739 University Ave.
+Oxford, MS 38655-4109
+
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a 501(c)(3)
+organization with EIN [Employee Identification Number] 64-6221541,
+and has been approved as a 501(c)(3) organization by the US Internal
+Revenue Service (IRS).  Donations are tax-deductible to the maximum
+extent permitted by law.  As the requirements for other states are met,
+additions to this list will be made and fund raising will begin in the
+additional states.
+
+We need your donations more than ever!
+
+You can get up to date donation information at:
+
+http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html
+
+
+***
+
+If you can't reach Project Gutenberg,
+you can always email directly to:
+
+Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com>
+
+hart@pobox.com forwards to hart@prairienet.org and archive.org
+if your mail bounces from archive.org, I will still see it, if
+it bounces from prairienet.org, better resend later on. . . .
+
+Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message.
+
+We would prefer to send you information by email.
+
+
+***
+
+
+Example command-line FTP session:
+
+ftp ftp.ibiblio.org
+login: anonymous
+password: your@login
+cd pub/docs/books/gutenberg
+cd etext90 through etext99 or etext00 through etext02, etc.
+dir [to see files]
+get or mget [to get files. . .set bin for zip files]
+GET GUTINDEX.??  [to get a year's listing of books, e.g., GUTINDEX.99]
+GET GUTINDEX.ALL [to get a listing of ALL books]
+
+
+**The Legal Small Print**
+
+
+(Three Pages)
+
+***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START***
+Why is this "Small Print!" statement here?  You know: lawyers.
+They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with
+your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from
+someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our
+fault.  So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement
+disclaims most of our liability to you.  It also tells you how
+you may distribute copies of this etext if you want to.
+
+*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT
+By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
+etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept
+this "Small Print!" statement.  If you do not, you can receive
+a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by
+sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person
+you got it from.  If you received this etext on a physical
+medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request.
+
+ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS
+This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etexts,
+is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart
+through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project").
+Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright
+on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and
+distribute it in the United States without permission and
+without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules, set forth
+below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext
+under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark.
+
+Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market
+any commercial products without permission.
+
+To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable
+efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain
+works.  Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any
+medium they may be on may contain "Defects".  Among other
+things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
+intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged
+disk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer
+codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.
+
+LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES
+But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below,
+[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may
+receive this etext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims
+all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including
+legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR
+UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT,
+INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE
+OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE
+POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES.
+
+If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of
+receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any)
+you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that
+time to the person you received it from.  If you received it
+on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and
+such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement
+copy.  If you received it electronically, such person may
+choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to
+receive it electronically.
+
+THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS".  NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS
+TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT
+LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A
+PARTICULAR PURPOSE.
+
+Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or
+the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the
+above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you
+may have other legal rights.
+
+INDEMNITY
+You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation,
+and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated
+with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
+texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including
+legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the
+following that you do or cause:  [1] distribution of this etext,
+[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the etext,
+or [3] any Defect.
+
+DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm"
+You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by
+disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this
+"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg,
+or:
+
+[1]  Only give exact copies of it.  Among other things, this
+     requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the
+     etext or this "small print!" statement.  You may however,
+     if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable
+     binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,
+     including any form resulting from conversion by word
+     processing or hypertext software, but only so long as
+     *EITHER*:
+
+     [*]  The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and
+          does *not* contain characters other than those
+          intended by the author of the work, although tilde
+          (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may
+          be used to convey punctuation intended by the
+          author, and additional characters may be used to
+          indicate hypertext links; OR
+
+     [*]  The etext may be readily converted by the reader at
+          no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent
+          form by the program that displays the etext (as is
+          the case, for instance, with most word processors);
+          OR
+
+     [*]  You provide, or agree to also provide on request at
+          no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the
+          etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC
+          or other equivalent proprietary form).
+
+[2]  Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this
+     "Small Print!" statement.
+
+[3]  Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the
+     gross profits you derive calculated using the method you
+     already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  If you
+     don't derive profits, no royalty is due.  Royalties are
+     payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation"
+     the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were
+     legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent
+     periodic) tax return.  Please contact us beforehand to
+     let us know your plans and to work out the details.
+
+WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO?
+Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of
+public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed
+in machine readable form.
+
+The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time,
+public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses.
+Money should be paid to the:
+"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or
+software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at:
+hart@pobox.com
+
+*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.05/20/01*END*
+[Portions of this header are copyright (C) 2001 by Michael S. Hart
+and may be reprinted only when these Etexts are free of all fees.]
+[Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be used in any sales
+of Project Gutenberg Etexts or other materials be they hardware or
+software or any other related product without express permission.]
+
+
+
+
+
+
+This etext was produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and
+the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
+
+
+
+
+
+MISSY
+
+by DANA GATLIN
+
+
+
+
+TO
+VIOLA ROSEBORO'
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+   I   THE FLAME DIVINE
+
+  II   "YOUR TRUE FRIEND, MELISSA M"
+
+ III   LIKE A SINGING BIRD
+
+  IV   MISSY TACKLES ROMANCE
+
+   V   IN THE MANNER OF THE DUCHESS
+
+  VI   INFLUENCING ARTHUR
+
+ VII   BUSINESS OF BLUSHING
+
+VIII   A HAPPY DOWNFALL
+
+  IX   DOBSON SAVES THE DAY
+
+   X   MISSY CANS THE COSMOS
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+THE FLAME DIVINE
+
+
+Melissa came home from Sunday-school with a feeling she had never
+had before. To be sure she was frequently discovering, these days,
+feelings she had never had before. That was the marvellous reward of
+having grown to be so old; she was ten, now, an advanced age--almost
+grown up! She could look back, across the eons which separated her
+from seven-years-old, and dimly re-vision, as a stranger, the little
+girl who cried her first day in the Primary Grade. How absurd seemed
+that bashful, timid, ignorant little silly! She knew nothing at all.
+She still thought there was a Santa Claus!--would you believe that?
+And, even at eight, she had lingering fancies of fairies dancing on
+the flower-beds by moonlight, and talking in some mysterious
+language with the flowers!
+
+Now she was much wiser. She knew that fairies lived only in books
+and pictures; that flowers could not actually converse. Well. . .
+she almost knew. Sometimes, when she was all alone--out in the
+summerhouse on a drowsy afternoon, or in the glimmering twilight
+when that one very bright and knowing star peered in at her,
+solitary, on the side porch, or when, later, the moonshine stole
+through the window and onto her pillow, so thick and white she could
+almost feel it with her fingers--at such times vague fancies would
+get tangled up with the facts of reality, and disturb her new,
+assured sense of wisdom. Suddenly she'd find herself all mixed up,
+confused as to what actually was and wasn't.
+
+But she never worried long over that. Life was too complex to permit
+much time for worry over anything; too full and compelling in every
+minute of the long, long hours which yet seemed not long enough to
+hold the new experiences and emotions which ceaselessly flooded in
+upon her.
+
+The emotion she felt this Sunday was utterly new. It was not
+contentment nor enjoyment merely, nor just happiness. For, in the
+morning as mother dressed her in her embroidered white "best" dress,
+and as she walked through the June sunshine to the Presbyterian
+church, trying to remember not to skip, she had been quite happy.
+And she had still felt happy during the Sunday-school lesson, while
+Miss Simpson explained how our Lord multiplied the loaves and fishes
+so as to feed the multitude. How wonderful it must have been to be
+alive when our Lord walked and talked among men!
+
+Her feeling of peaceful contentment intensified a little when they
+all stood up to sing,
+
+"Let me be a little sunbeam for Jesus--" and she seemed, then, to
+feel a subtle sort of glow, as from an actual sunbeam, warming her
+whole being.
+
+But the marvellous new feeling did not definitely begin till after
+Sunday-school was over, when she was helping Miss Simpson collect
+the song-books. Not the big, thick hymn-books used for the church
+service, but smaller ones, with pasteboard backs and different
+tunes. Melissa would have preferred the Sunday-school to use the
+big, cloth-covered hymnals. Somehow they looked more religious; just
+as their tunes, with slow, long-drawn cadences, somehow sounded more
+religious than the Sunday-school's cheerful tunes. Why this should
+be so Melissa didn't know; there were many things she didn't yet
+understand about religion. But she asked no questions; experience
+had taught her that the most serious questions may be strangely
+turned into food for laughter by grown-ups.
+
+It was when she carried the song-books into the choir-room to stack
+them on some chairs, that she noticed the choir had come in and was
+beginning to practise a real hymn. She loitered. It was an
+especially religious hymn, very slow and mournful. They sang:
+
+"A-a--sle-e-e-ep in Je-e-e--sus--Ble-e-es--ed sle-e-e-ep--From which
+none e-e-ev--er Wake to we-e-e-ep--"
+
+The choir did not observe Melissa; did not suspect that state of
+deliciousness which, starting from the skin, slowly crept into her
+very soul. She stood there, very unobtrusive, drinking in the sadly
+sweet sounds. Up on the stained-glass window the sunlight filtered
+through blue-and-red-and-golden angels, sending shafts of heavenly
+colour across the floor; and the fibres of her soul, enmeshed in
+music, seemed to stretch out to mingle with that heavenly colour. It
+was hard to separate herself from that sound and colour which was
+not herself. Tears came to her eyes; she couldn't tell why, for she
+wasn't sad. Oh, if she could stand there listening forever!--could
+feel like this forever!
+
+The choir was practising for a funeral that afternoon, but Melissa
+didn't know that. She had never attended a funeral. She didn't even
+know it was a funeral song. She only knew that when, at last, they
+stopped singing and filed out of the choir-room, she could hardly
+bear to have them go. She wished she might follow them, might tuck
+herself away in the auditorium somewhere and stay for the church
+service. But her mother didn't allow her to do that. Mother insisted
+that church service and Sunday-school, combined, were too much for a
+little girl, and would give her headaches.
+
+So there was nothing for Missy to do but go home. The sun shone just
+as brightly as on her hither journey but now she had no impulse to
+skip. She walked along sedately, in rhythm to inner, long-drawn
+cadences. The cadences permeated her--were herself. She was sad, yet
+pleasantly, thrillingly so. It was divine. When she reached home,
+she went into the empty front-parlour and hunted out the big, cloth-
+covered hymnal that was there. She found "Asleep in Jesus" and
+played it over and over on the piano. The bass was a trifle
+difficult, but that didn't matter. Then she found other hymns which
+were in accord with her mood: "Abide with Me"; "Nearer My God to
+Thee"; "One Sweetly Solemn Thought." The last was sublimely
+beautiful; it almost stole her favour away from "Asleep in Jesus."
+Not quite, though.
+
+She was re-playing her first favourite when the folks all came in
+from church. There were father and mother, grandpa and grandma
+Merriam who lived in the south part of town, Aunt Nettie, and Cousin
+Pete Merriam. Cousin Pete's mother was dead and his father out in
+California on a long business trip, so he was spending that summer
+in Cherryvale with his grandparents.
+
+Melissa admired Cousin Pete very much, for he was big and handsome
+and wore more stylish-looking clothes than did most of the young men
+in Cherryvale. Also, he was very old--nineteen, and a sophomore at
+the State University. Very old. Naturally he was much wiser than
+Missy, for all her acquired wisdom. She stood in awe of him. He had
+a way of asking her absurd, foolish questions about things that
+everybody knew; and when, to be polite, she had to answer him
+seriously in his own foolish vein, he would laugh at her! So, though
+she admired him, she always had an impulse to run away from him. She
+would have liked, now, in this heavenly, religious mood, to run away
+lest he might ask her embarrassing questions about it. But, before
+she had the chance, grandpa said:
+
+"Why Missy, playing hymns? You'll be church organist before we know
+it!"
+
+Missy blushed.
+
+"'Asleep in Jesus' is my favourite, I think," commented grandma.
+"It's the one I'd like sung over me at the last. Play it again,
+dear."
+
+But Pete had picked up a sheet of music from the top of the piano.
+
+"Let's have this, Missy." He turned to his grandmother. "Ought to
+hear her do this rag--I've been teaching her double-bass."
+
+Missy shrank back as he placed the rag-time on the music-rest.
+
+"Oh, I'd rather not--to-day."
+
+Pete smiled down at her--his amiable but condescending smile.
+
+"What's the matter with to-day?" he asked.
+
+Missy blushed again.
+
+"Oh, I don't know--I just don't feel that way, I guess."
+
+"Don't feel that way?" repeated Pete. "You're temperamental, are
+you? How do you feel, Missy?"
+
+Missy feared she was letting herself in for embarrassment; but this
+was a holy subject. So she made herself answer:
+
+"I guess I feel religious."
+
+Pete shouted. "She feels religious! That's a good one! She guesses
+she--"
+
+"Peter, you should be ashamed of yourself!" reproved his
+grandmother.
+
+"She's a scream!" he insisted. "Religious! That kid!"
+
+"Well," defended Missy, timid and puzzled, but wounded to unwonted
+bravery, "isn't it proper to feel like that on the Sabbath?"
+
+Pete shouted again.
+
+"Peter--stop that! You should be ashamed of yourself!" It was his
+grandfather this time. Grandpa moved over to the piano and removed
+the rag-time from off the hymnal, pausing to pat Missy on the head.
+
+But Peter was not the age to be easily squelched.
+
+"What does it feel like, Missy--the religious feeling?"
+
+Missy, her eyes bright behind their blur, didn't answer. Indeed, she
+could not have defined that sweetly sad glow, now so cruelly
+crushed, even had she wanted to.
+
+Missy didn't enjoy her dinner as much as she usually did the midday
+Sunday feasts when grandpa and grandma came to eat with them. She
+felt embarrassed and shy. Of course she had to answer when asked why
+she wasn't eating her drumstick, and whether the green apples in
+grandma's orchard had given her an "upset," and other direct
+questions; but when she could, she kept silent. She was glad Pete
+didn't talk to her much. Yet, now and then, she caught his eyes upon
+her in a look of sardonic enquiry, and quickly averted her own.
+
+Her unhappiness lasted till the visitors had departed. Then, after
+aimlessly wandering about, she took her Holy Bible out to the
+summerhouse. She was contemplating a surprise for grandpa and
+grandma. Next week mother and Aunt Nettie were going over to Aunt
+Anna's in Junction City for a few days; during their absence Missy
+was to stay with her grandparents. And to surprise them, she was
+learning by heart a whole Psalm.
+
+She planned to spring it upon them the first night at family
+prayers. At grandma's they had prayers every night before going to
+bed. First grandpa read a long chapter out of the Holy Bible, then
+they all knelt down, grandpa beside his big Morris chair, grandma
+beside her little willow rocker, and whoever else was present beside
+whatever chair he'd been sitting in. Grandpa prayed a long prayer;
+grandma a shorter one; then, if any of the grandchildren were there,
+they must say a verse by heart. Missy's first verse had been, "Jesus
+wept." But she was just a tiny thing then. When she grew bigger, she
+repeated, "Suffer the little children to come unto Me." Later she
+accomplished the more showy, "In My Father's house are many
+mansions; I go there to prepare a place for you."
+
+But this would be her first whole Psalm. She pictured every one's
+delighted and admiring surprise. After much deliberation she had
+decided upon the Psalm in which David sings his song of faith, "The
+Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want."
+
+How beautiful it was! So deep and so hard to understand, yet,
+somehow, all the more beautiful for that. She murmured aloud, "I
+will fear no evil--for Thou art with me--Thy rod and Thy staff they
+comfort me"; and wondered what the rod and staff really were.
+
+But best of all she liked the last verse:
+
+"Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life;
+and I will dwell in the house oŁ the Lord forever."
+
+To dwell in the house of the Lord forever!--How wonderful! What was
+the house of the Lord? . . . Missy leaned back in the summerhouse
+seat, and gazed dreamily out at the silver-white clouds drifting
+lazily across the sky; in the side-yard her nasturtium bed glowed up
+from the slick green grass like a mass of flame; a breeze stirred
+the flame to gentle motion and touched the ramblers on the
+summerhouse, shaking out delicious scents; distantly from the
+backyard came the tranquil, drowsy sounds of unseen chickens. Missy
+listened to the chickens; regarded sky and flowers and green--
+colours so lovely as to almost hurt you--and sniffed the fragrant
+air. . . All this must be the house of the Lord! Here, surely
+goodness and mercy would follow her all the days of her life.
+
+Thus, slowly, the marvellous new feeling stole back and took
+possession of her. She could no longer bear just sitting there
+quiet, just feeling. She craved some sort of expression. So she rose
+and moved slowly over the slick green grass, pausing by the blazing
+nasturtium bed to pick a few vivid blossoms. These she pinned to her
+dress; then went very leisurely on to the house-to the parlour--to
+the piano--to "Asleep in Jesus."
+
+She played it "with expression." Her soul now seemed to be flowing
+out through her fingers and to the keyboard; the music came not from
+the keyboard, really, but from her soul. Rapture!
+
+But presently her mood was rudely interrupted by mother's voice at
+the door.
+
+"Missy, Aunt Nettie's lying down with a headache. I'm afraid the
+piano disturbs her."
+
+"All right, mother."
+
+Lingeringly Missy closed the hymnal. She couldn't forbear a little
+sigh. Perhaps mother noted the sigh. Anyway, she came close and
+said:
+
+"I'm sorry, dear. I think it's nice the way you've learned to play
+hymns."
+
+Missy glanced up; and for a moment forgetting that grown-ups don't
+always understand, she breathed:
+
+"Oh, mother, it's HEAVENLY! You can't imagine--"
+
+She remembered just in time, and stopped short. But mother didn't
+embarrass her by asking her to explain something that couldn't be
+explained in words. She only laid her hand, for a second, on the
+sleek brown head. The marvellous feeling endured through the
+afternoon, and through supper, and through the evening--clear up to
+the time Missy undressed and said her prayers. Some special
+sweetness seemed to have crept into saying prayers; our Lord Jesus
+seemed very personal and very close as she whispered to Him a
+postlude:
+
+"I will fear no evil, for Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.
+Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,
+and I'll dwell in Thy house forever, O Lord--Amen."
+
+For a time she lay open-eyed in her little white bed. A flood of
+moonlight came through the window to her pillow. She felt that it
+was a shining benediction from our Lord Himself. And indeed it may
+have been. Gradually her eyes closed. She smiled as she slept.
+
+The grace of God continued to be there when she awoke. It seemed an
+unusual morning. The sun was brighter than on ordinary mornings; the
+birds outside were twittering more loudly; even the lawnmower which
+black Jeff was already rolling over the grass had assumed a
+peculiarly agreeable clatter. And though, at breakfast, father
+grumbled at his eggs being overdone, and though mother complained
+that the laundress hadn't come, and though Aunt Nettie's head was
+still aching, all these things, somehow, seemed trivial and of no
+importance.
+
+Missy could scarcely wait to get her dusting and other little
+"chores" done, so that she might go to the piano.
+
+However, she hadn't got half-way through "One Sweetly Solemn
+Thought" before her mother appeared.
+
+"Missy! what in the world do you mean? I've told you often enough
+you must finish your practising before strumming at other things."
+
+Strumming!
+
+But Missy said nothing in defence. She only hung her head. Her
+mother went on:
+
+"Now, I don't want to speak to you again about this. Get right to
+your exercises--I hope I won't have to hide that hymn-book!"
+
+Mother's voice was stern. The laundress's defection and other
+domestic worries may have had something to do with it. But Missy
+couldn't consider that; she was too crushed. In stricken silence she
+attacked the "exercises."
+
+Not once during that day had she a chance to let out, through music,
+any of her surcharged devotionalism. Mother kept piling on her one
+errand after another. Mother was in an unwonted flurry; for the next
+day was the one she and Aunt Nettie were going to Junction City and
+there were, as she put it, "a hundred and one things to do."
+
+Through all those tribulations Missy reminded herself of "Thy rod
+and Thy staff." She didn't yet know just what these aids to comfort
+were; but the Psalmist had said of them, "they shall comfort me."
+And, somehow, she did find comfort. That is what Faith does.
+
+And that night, after she had said her prayers and got into bed,
+once more the grace of God rode in on the moonlight to rest upon her
+pillow.
+
+But the next afternoon, when she had to kiss mother good-bye, a
+great tide of loneliness rushed over Missy, and all but engulfed
+her. She had always known she loved mother tremendously, but till
+that moment she had forgotten how very much. She had to concentrate
+hard upon "Thy rod and Thy staff" before she was able to blink back
+her tears. And mother, noticing the act, commented on her little
+daughter's bravery, and blinked back some tears of her own.
+
+In the excitement of packing up to go to grandma's house, Missy to a
+degree forgot her grief. She loved to go to grandma's house. She
+liked everything about that house: the tall lilac hedge that
+separated the yard from the Curriers' yard next door; the orchard
+out in back where grew the apples which sometimes gave her an
+"upset"; the garden where grandpa spent hours and hours
+"cultivating" his vegetables; and grandma's own particular garden,
+which was given over to tall gaudy hollyhocks, and prim rows of
+verbena, snap-dragon, phlox, spicy pinks, heliotrope, and other
+flowers such as all grandmothers ought to have.
+
+And she liked the house itself, with its many unusual and delightful
+appurtenances: no piano--an organ in the parlour, the treadles of
+which you must remember to keep pumping, or the music would wheeze
+and stop; the "what-not" in the corner, its shelves filled with
+fascinating curios--shells of all kinds, especially a big conch
+shell which, held close to the ear, still sang a song of the sea;
+the marble-topped centre-table, and on it the interesting "album" of
+family photographs, and the mysterious contrivance which made so
+lifelike the double "views" you placed in the holder; and the lamp
+with its shade dripping crystal bangles, like huge raindrops off an
+umbrella; and the crocheted "tidies" on all the rocking-chairs, and
+the carpet-covered footstools sitting demurely round on the floor,
+and the fringed lambrequin on the mantel, and the enormous fan of
+peacock feathers spreading out on the wall--oh, yes, grandma's was a
+fascinating place!
+
+Then besides, of course, she adored grandpa and grandma. They were
+charming and unlike other people, and very, very good. Grandpa was
+slow-moving, and tall and broad--even taller and broader than
+father; and he must be terribly wise because he was Justice-of-the-
+Peace, and because he didn't talk much. Other children thought him a
+person to be feared somewhat, but Missy liked to tuck her hand in
+his enormous one and talk to him about strange, mysterious things.
+
+Grandma wasn't nearly so big--indeed she wasn't much taller than
+Missy herself; and she was proud of her activity--her "spryness,"
+she called it. She boasted of her ability to stoop over and, without
+bending her knees, to lay both palms flat on the floor. Even Missy's
+mother couldn't do that, and sometimes she seemed to grow a little
+tired of being reminded of it. Grandma liked to talk as much as
+grandpa liked to keep silent; and always, to the running
+accompaniment of her tongue, she kept her hands busied, whether
+"puttering about" in her house or flower-garden, or crocheting
+"tidies," or knitting little mittens, or creating the multi-coloured
+paper-flowers which helped make her house so alluring.
+
+That night for supper they had beefsteak and hot biscuits and
+custard pie; and grandma let her eat these delicacies which were
+forbidden at home. She even let her drink coffee! Not that Missy
+cared especially for coffee--it had a bitter taste; but drinking it
+made her feel grown-up. She always felt more grown-up at grandma's
+than at home. She was "company," and they showed her a consideration
+one never receives at home.
+
+After supper Cousin Pete went out somewhere, and the other three had
+a long, pleasant evening. Another agreeable feature about staying at
+grandma's was that they didn't make such a point of her going to bed
+early. The three of them sat out on the porch till the night came
+stealing up; it covered the street and the yard with darkness,
+crawled into the tree tops and the rose-bushes and the lilac-hedge.
+It hid all the familiar objects of daytime, except the street-lamp
+at the corner and certain windows of the neighbours' houses, which
+now showed square and yellow. Of the people on the porch next door,
+and of those passing in the street, only the voices remained; and,
+sometimes, a glowing point of red which was a cigar.
+
+Presently the moon crept up from behind the Jones's house, peeping
+stealthily, as if to make sure that all was right in Cherryvale. And
+then everything became visible again, but in a magically beautiful
+way; it was now like a picture from a fairy-tale. Indeed, this was
+the hour when your belief in fairies was most apt to return to you.
+
+The locusts began to sing. They sang loudly. And grandma kept up her
+chatter. But within Missy everything seemed to become very quiet.
+Suddenly she felt sad, a peculiar, serene kind of sadness. It grew
+from the inside out--now and then almost escaping in a sigh. Because
+it couldn't quite escape, it hurt; she envied the locusts who were
+letting their sadness escape in that reiterant, tranquil song.
+
+She was glad when, at last, grandpa said:
+
+"How'd you like to go in and play me a tune, Missy?"
+
+"Oh, I'd love to, grandpa!" Missy jumped up eagerly.
+
+So grandpa lighted the parlour lamp, whose crystal bangles now
+looked like enormous diamonds; and a delicious time commenced.
+Grandpa got out his cloth-covered hymnal, and she played again those
+hymns which mingle so inexplicably with the feelings inside you. Not
+even her difficulties with the organ--such as forgetting
+occasionally to treadle, or having the keys pop up soundlessly from
+under her fingers--could mar that feeling. Especially when grandpa
+added his bass to the music, a deep bass so impressive as to make it
+improper to question its harmony, even in your own mind.
+
+Grandma had come in and seated herself in her little willow rocker;
+she was rocking in time to the music, her eyes closed, and saying
+nothing--just listening to the two of them. And, playing those
+hymns, with grandpa singing and grandma listening, the new religious
+feeling grew and grew and grew in Missy till it seemed to flow out
+of her and fill the room. It flowed on out and filled the yard, the
+town, the world; and upward, upward, upward--she was one with the
+sky and moon and stars. . .
+
+At last, in a little lull, grandpa said:
+
+"Now, Missy, my song--you know."
+
+Missy knew very well what grandpa's favourite was; it was one of the
+first pieces she had learned by heart. So she played for him "Silver
+Threads among the Gold."
+
+"Thanks, baby," said grandpa when she had finished. There was a
+suspicious brightness in his eyes. And a suspicious brightness in
+grandma's, too. So, though she wasn't unhappy at all, she felt her
+own eyes grow moist. Grandpa and grandma weren't really unhappy,
+either. Why, when people are not really unhappy at all, do their
+eyes fill just of themselves?
+
+And now was the moment of the great surprise at hand. Missy could
+scarcely wait. It must be admitted that, during the interminable
+time that grandpa was reading his chapter--it was even a longer
+chapter than usual to-night--and while grandma was reading her
+shorter one, Missy was not attending. She was repeating to herself
+the Twenty-third Psalm. And even when they all knelt, grandpa beside
+the big Morris chair and grandma beside the little willow rocker and
+Missy beside the "patent rocker" with the prettiest crocheted tidy--
+her thoughts were still in a divine channel exclusively her own.
+
+But now, at last, came the time for that channel to be widened; she
+closed her eyes tighter, clasped her hands together, and began:
+
+"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want, He maketh me to lie down
+in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters. . ."
+
+How beautiful it was! Unconsciously her voice lifted--quavered--
+lowered--lifted again, with "expression." And she had the oddest
+complex sensation; she could, through her tightly closed eyes,
+vision herself kneeling there; while, at the same time, she could
+feel her spirit floating away, mingling with the air, melting into
+the night, fusing with all the divine mystery of heaven and earth.
+And her soul yearned for more mystery, for more divinity, with an
+inexpressible yearning.
+
+Yet all the time she was conscious of the dramatic figure she made,
+and of how pleased and impressed her audience must be; in fact, as
+her voice "tremuloed" on that last sublime "Surely goodness and
+mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in
+the house of the Lord forever," she unclosed one eye to note the
+effect.
+
+Both the grey heads remained prayerfully bent; but at her "Amen"
+both of them lifted. And oh! what a reward was the expression in
+those two pairs of eyes!
+
+Grandma came swiftly to her and kissed her, and exclaimed:
+
+"Why, however did you learn all that long Psalm, dear? And you
+recited it so beautifully, too!--Not a single mistake! I never was
+prouder in my life!"
+
+Grandpa didn't kiss her, but he kept saying over and over:
+
+"Just think of that baby!--the dear little baby."
+
+And Missy, despite her spiritual exaltation, couldn't help feeling
+tremendously pleased.
+
+"It was a surprise--I thought you'd be surprised," she remarked with
+satisfaction.
+
+Grandma excitedly began to ask all kinds of questions as to how
+Missy came to pick out that particular Psalm, and what difficulties
+she experienced in learning it all; but it was grandpa who,
+characteristically, enquired:
+
+"And what does it mean to you, Missy?"
+
+"Mean--?" she repeated.
+
+"Yes. For instance, what docs that last verse mean?"
+
+"'Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life-
+-?' That--?"
+
+"Yes, baby."
+
+"Why, I think I see myself walking through some big, thick woods.
+It's springtime, and the trees are all green, and the grass slick
+and soft. And birds are singing, and the wind's singing in the
+leaves, too. And the sun's shining, and all the clouds have silver
+edges."
+
+She paused.
+
+"Yes, dear," said grandpa.
+
+"That's the house of the Lord," she explained.
+
+"Yes, dear," said grandpa again. "What else?"
+
+"Well, I'm skipping and jumping along, for I'm happy to be in the
+house of the Lord. And there are three little fairies, all dressed
+in silver and gold, and with paper-flowers in their hair, and long
+diamond bangles hanging like fringe on their skirts. They're
+following me, and they're skipping and jumping, too. They're the
+three fairies in the verse."
+
+"The three fairies?" Grandpa seemed puzzled.
+
+Yes. It says 'Surely goodness and mercy,' you know."
+
+"But that makes only two, doesn't it?" said grandpa, still puzzled.
+
+Missy laughed at his stupidity.
+
+"Why, no!--Three!" She counted them off on her fingers: "Surely--and
+Goodness--and Mercy. Don't you see?"
+
+"Oh, yes, dear--I see now," said grandpa, very slowly. "I wasn't
+counting Surely."
+
+Just then came a chuckle from the doorway. Missy hadn't seen Pete
+enter, else she would have been less free in revealing her real
+thoughts. What had he overheard?
+
+Still laughing, Pete advanced into the room.
+
+"So there's a fairy named 'Surely,' is there? What's the colour of
+her eyes, Missy?"
+
+Missy shrank a little closer into the haven of grandpa's knees. And
+grandpa, in the severe voice that made the other children stand in
+awe of him, said:
+
+"That will do, Peter!"
+
+But Peter, unawed, went on:
+
+"I know, grandpa--but she's such a funny little dingbat! And now,
+that she's turned pious--"
+
+Grandpa interrupted him with a gesture of the hand.
+
+"I said that'd do, Peter. If you'd find some time to attend prayers
+instead of cavorting round over town, it wouldn't hurt you any."
+
+Then grandma, who, though she was fond of Missy, was fond of Pete
+also, joined in defensively:
+
+"Pete hasn't been cavorting round over town, grandpa--he's just been
+over to the Curriers'."
+
+At that Missy turned interested eyes upon her big cousin. He'd been
+calling on Polly Currier again! Polly Currier was one of the
+prettiest big girls in Cherryvale. Missy gazed at Pete, so handsome
+in his stylish-looking blue serge coat and sharply creased white
+ducks, debonairly twirling the bamboo walking-stick which the
+Cherryvale boys, half-enviously, twitted him about, and felt the
+wings of Romance whirring in the already complicated air. For this
+additional element of interest he furnished, she could almost
+forgive him his scoffing attitude toward her own most serious
+affairs.
+
+But Pete, fortunately for his complacency, didn't suspect the reason
+for her concentrated though friendly gaze.
+
+All in all, Missy felt quite at peace when she went upstairs.
+Grandma tucked her into bed--the big, extraordinarily soft feather-
+bed which was one of the outstanding features of grandma's
+fascinating house.
+
+And there--wonder of wonders!--the moon, through grandma's window,
+found her out just as readily as though she'd been in her own little
+bed at home. Again it carried in the grace of God, to rest through
+the night on her pillow.
+
+Next day was an extremely happy day. She had coffee for breakfast,
+and was permitted by Alma, the hired girl, to dry all the cups and
+saucers. Then she dusted the parlour, including all the bric-a-brac,
+which made dusting here an engrossing occupation. Later she helped
+grandpa hoe the cabbages, and afterward "puttered around" with
+grandma in the flower-garden. Then she and grandma listened, very
+quietly, through a crack in the nearly-closed door while grandpa
+conducted a hearing in the parlour. To tell the truth, Missy wasn't
+greatly interested in whether Mrs. Brenning's chickens had scratched
+up Mrs. Jones's tomato-vines, hut she pretended to be interested
+because grandma was.
+
+And then, after the hearing was over, and the Justice-of-the-Peace
+had become just grandpa again, Missy went into the parlour and
+played hymns. Then came dinner, a splendid and heavy repast which
+constrained her to take a nap. After the nap she felt better, and
+sat out on the front porch to learn crocheting from grandma.
+
+For a while Pete sat with them, and Polly Currier from next door
+came over, too. She looked awfully pretty all in white--white
+shirtwaist and white duck skirt and white canvas oxfords. Presently
+Pete suggested that Polly go into the parlour with him to look at
+some college snapshots. Missy wondered why he didn't bring them out
+to the porch where it was cooler, but she was too polite to ask.
+
+They stayed in there a long time--what were they doing? For long
+spaces she couldn't even hear their voices. Grandma chattered away
+with her usual vivacity; presently she suggested that they leave off
+crocheting and work on paper-flowers a while. What a delight! Missy
+was just learning the intricacies of peonies, and adored to squeeze
+the rosy tissue-paper over the head of a hat-pin and observe the
+amazing result.
+
+"Run up to my room, dear," said grandma. "You'll find the box on the
+closet shelf."
+
+Missy knew the "paper-flower box." It was a big hat-box,
+appropriately covered with pink-posied paper--a quaintly beautiful
+box.
+
+In the house, passing the parlour door, she tip-toed, scarcely
+knowing why. There was now utter silence in the parlour--why were
+they so still? Perhaps they had gone out somewhere. Without any
+definite plan, but still tip-toeing in the manner she and grandma
+had approached to overhear the law-suit, she moved toward the
+partly-closed door. Through the crevice they were out of vision, but
+she could hear a subdued murmur--they were in there after all!
+Missy, too interested to be really conscious of her act, strained
+her ears.
+
+Polly Currier murmured:
+
+"Why, what do you mean?--what are you doing?"
+
+Pete murmured:
+
+"What a question!--I'm trying to kiss you."
+
+"Let me go!--you're mussing my dress! You can't kiss me--let me go!"
+
+Pete murmured:
+
+"Not till you let me kiss you!"
+
+Polly Currier murmured:
+
+"I suppose that's the way you talk to all the girls!--I know you
+college men!"
+
+Pete murmured, a whole world of reproach in one word:
+
+"Polly."
+
+They became silent--a long silence. Missy stood petrified behind the
+door; her breathing ceased but her heart beat quickly. Here was
+Romance--not the made-up kind of Romance you surreptitiously read in
+mother's magazines, but real Romance! And she--Missy--knew them
+both! And they were just the other side of the door!
+
+Too thrilled to reflect upon the nature of her deed, scarcely
+conscious of herself as a being at all, Missy craned her neck and
+peered around the door. They were sitting close together on the
+divan. Pete's arm was about Polly Currier's shoulder. And he was
+kissing her! Curious, that! Hadn't she just heard Polly tell him
+that he couldn't?. . . Oh, beautiful!
+
+She started noiselessly to withdraw, but her foot struck the conch
+shell which served as a door-stop. At the noise two startled pairs
+of eyes were upon her immediately; and Pete, leaping up, advanced
+upon her with a fierce whisper:
+
+"You little spy-eye!--What're you up to? You little spy-eye!"
+
+A swift wave of shame engulfed Missy.
+
+"Oh, I'm sorry!" she cried in a stricken voice. "I didn't mean to,
+Pete--I--"
+
+He interrupted her, still in that fierce whisper:
+
+"Stop yelling, can't you! No, I suppose you 'didn't mean to'--Right
+behind the door!" His eyes withered her.
+
+"Truly, I didn't, Pete." Her own voice, now, had sunk to a whisper.
+"Cross my heart I didn't!"
+
+But he still glared.
+
+"You ought to be ashamed of yourself--always sneaking round! You
+ought to be ashamed of yourself!"
+
+"Oh, I am, Pete," she quavered, though, in fact, she wasn't sure in
+just what lay the shamefulness of her deed; till he'd spoken she had
+felt nothing but Romance in the air.
+
+"Well, you ought to be," Pete reiterated. He hesitated a second,
+then went on:
+
+"You aren't going to blab it all around, are you?"
+
+"Oh, no!" breathed Missy, horrified at such a suggestion. "Well, see
+that you don't! I'll give you some candy to-morrow."
+
+"Yes--candy," came Polly's voice faintly from the divan.
+
+Then, as the subject seemed to be exhausted, Missy crept away,
+permeated with the sense of her sin.
+
+It was horrible! To have sinned just when she'd found the wonderful
+new feeling. Just when she'd resolved to be good always, that she
+might dwell in the house of the Lord forever. She hadn't intended to
+sin; but she must have been unusually iniquitous. Pete's face had
+told her that. It was particularly horrible because sin had stolen
+upon her so suddenly. Does sin always take you unawares, that way? A
+new and black fear settled heavily over her.
+
+When she finally returned to the porch with the paper-flowers box,
+she was embarrassed by grandma's asking what had kept her so long.
+It would have been easy to make up an excuse, but this new sense of
+sin restrained her from lying. So she mumbled unintelligibly, till
+grandma interrupted:
+
+"Do you feel sick, Missy?" she asked anxiously.
+
+"No, ma'am."
+
+"Are you sure? You ate so much at dinner. Maybe you didn't take a
+long enough nap."
+
+"I'm not sleepy, grandma."
+
+But grandma insisted on feeling her forehead--her hands. They were
+hot.
+
+"I think I'd better put you to bed for a little while," said
+grandma. "You're feverish. And if you're not better by night, you
+mustn't go to the meeting."
+
+Missy's heart sank, weighted with a new fear. It would be an
+unbearable calamity to miss going to the meeting. For, that night, a
+series of "revivals" were to start at the Methodist Church; and,
+though father was a Presbyterian (to oblige mother), grandpa and
+grandma were Methodists and would go every night; and so long as
+mother was away, she could go to meeting with them. In the fervour
+of the new religious feeling she craved sanctified surroundings.
+
+So, though she didn't feel at all sick and though she wanted
+desperately to make paper-flowers, she docilely let herself be put
+to bed. Anyway, perhaps it was just a penance sent to her by our
+Lord, to make atonement for her sin.
+
+By supper-time grandma agreed that she seemed well enough to go.
+Throughout the meal Pete, who was wearing an aloof and serious
+manner, refrained from looking at her, and she strived to keep her
+own anxious gaze away from him. He wasn't going to the meeting with
+the other three.
+
+Just as the lingering June twilight was beginning to darken--the
+most peaceful hour of the day--Missy walked off sedately between her
+grandparents. She was wearing her white "best dress." It seemed
+appropriate that your best clothes should be always involved in the
+matter of church going; that the spiritual beatification within
+should be reflected by the garments without.
+
+The Methodist church in Cherryvale prided itself that it was not
+"new-fangled." It was not nearly so pretentious in appearance as was
+the Presbyterian church. Missy, in her heart, preferred stained-
+glass windows and their glorious reflections, as an asset to
+religion; but at night services you were not apt to note that
+deficiency.
+
+She sat well up front with her grandparents, as befitted their
+position as pillars of the church, and from this vantage had a good
+view of the proceedings. She could see every one in the choir,
+seated up there behind the organ on the side platform. Polly Currier
+was in the choir; she wasn't a Methodist, but she had a flute-like
+soprano voice, and the Methodists--whom all the town knew had "poor
+singing"--had overstepped the boundaries of sectarianism for this
+revival. Polly looked like an angel in pink lawn and rose-wreathed
+leghorn hat; she couldn't know that Missy gazed upon her with secret
+adoration as a creature of Romance--one who had been kissed! Missy
+continued to gaze at Polly during the preliminary songs--tunes
+rather disappointing, not so beautiful as Missy's own favourite
+hymns--till the preacher appeared.
+
+The Reverend Poole--"Brother" Poole as grandpa called him, though he
+wasn't a relation--was a very tall, thin man with a blonde, rather
+vacuous face; but at exhortation and prayer he "had the gift." For
+so good a man, he had a remarkably poor opinion of the virtues of
+his fellow-men. Missy couldn't understand half his fiery eloquence;
+but she felt his inspiration; and she gathered that most of the
+congregation must be sinners. Knowing herself to be a sinner, she
+wasn't so much surprised at that.
+
+Finally Brother Poole, with quavering voice, urged all sinners to
+come forward and kneel at the feet of Jesus, and pray to be "washed
+in the blood of the lamb." Thus would their sins be forgiven them,
+and their souls be born anew. Missy's soul quivered and stretched up
+to be born anew. So, with several other sinners--including grandpa
+and grandma whom she had never before suspected of sin--she
+unhesitatingly walked forward. She invoked the grace of God; her
+head, her body, her feet seemed very light and remote as she walked;
+she seemed, rather, to float; her feet scarcely touched the red-
+ingrain aisle "runner"--she was nearly all spirit. She knelt before
+the altar between grandpa and grandma, one hand tight-clasped in
+grandpa's.
+
+Despite her exaltation, she was conscious of material things. For
+instance she noted that Mrs. Brenning was on the other side of
+grandma, and wondered whether she were atoning for the sins of her
+chickens against Mrs. Jones's tomato-vines; she noticed, too, that
+Mrs. Brenning's hat had become askew, which gave her a queer,
+unsuitable, rakish look. Yet Missy didn't feel like laughing. She
+felt like closing her eyes and waiting to be born anew. But, before
+closing her eyes, she sent a swift glance up at the choir platform.
+Polly Currier was still up there, looking very placid as she sang
+with the rest of the choir. They were singing a rollicking tune. She
+listened--
+
+"Pull for the shore, sailor! Pull for the shore! Leave the poor old
+strangled wretch, and pull for the shore!"
+
+Who was the old strangled wretch? A sinner, doubtless. Ah, the world
+was full of sin. She looked again at Polly. Polly's placidity was
+reassuring; evidently she was not a sinner. But it was time to close
+her eyes. However, before doing so, she sent a swift upward glance
+toward the preacher. He had a look on his face as though an electric
+light had been turned on just inside. He was praying fervently for
+God's grace upon "these Thy repentant creatures." Missy shut her
+eyes, repented violently, and awaited the miracle. What would
+happen? How would it feel, when her soul was born anew? Surely it
+must be time. She waited and waited, while her limbs grew numb and
+her soul continued to quiver and stretch up. But in vain; she
+somehow didn't feel the grace of God nearly as much as last Sunday
+when the Presbyterian choir was singing "Asleep in Jesus," while the
+sun shone divinely through the stained-glass window.
+
+She felt cheated and very sad when, at last, the preacher bade the
+repentant ones stand up again. Evidently she hadn't repented hard
+enough. Very soberly she walked back to the pew and took her place
+between grandpa and grandma. They looked rather sober, too; she
+wondered if they, also, had had trouble with their souls.
+
+Then Brother Poole bade the repentant sinners to "stand up and
+testify." One or two of the older sinners, who had repented before,
+rose first to show how this was done. And then some of the younger
+ones, after being urged, followed example. Sobbing, they testified
+as to their depth of sin and their sense of forgiveness, while
+Brother Poole intermittently cut in with staccato exclamations such
+as "Praise the Lord!" and "My Redeemer Liveth!"
+
+Missy was eager to see whether grandpa and grandma would stand up
+and testify. When neither of them did so, she didn't know whether
+she was more disappointed or relieved. Perhaps their silence denoted
+that their souls had been born anew quite easily. Or again--! She
+sighed; her soul, at all events, had proved a failure.
+
+She was silent on the way home. Grandpa and grandma held her two
+hands clasped in theirs and over her head talked quietly. She was
+too dejected to pay much attention to what they were saying; caught
+only scattered, meaningless phrases: "Of course that kind of frenzy
+is sincere but--" "Simple young things--" "No more idea of sin or
+real repentance--"
+
+But Missy was engrossed with her own dismal thoughts. The blood of
+the Lamb had passed her by.
+
+And that night, for the first time in three nights, the grace of God
+didn't flow in on the flood of moonlight through her window. She
+tossed on her unhallowed pillow in troubled dreams. Once she cried
+out in sleep, and grandma came hurrying in with a candle. Grandma
+sat down beside her--what was this she was saying about "green-apple
+pie"? Missy wished to ask her about it--green-apple pie--green-apple
+pie--Before she knew it she was off to sleep again.
+
+It was the next morning while she was still lying in bed, that Missy
+made the Great Resolve. That hour is one when big Ideas--all kinds
+of unusual thoughts--are very apt to come. When you're not yet
+entirely awake; not taken up with trivial, everyday things. Your
+mind, then, has full swing.
+
+Lying there in grandma's soft feather bed, Missy wasn't yet
+distracted by daytime affairs. She dreamily regarded the patch of
+blue sky showing through the window, and bits of fleecy cloud, and
+flying specks of far-away birds. How wonderful to be a bird and live
+up in the beautiful sky! When she died and became an angel, she
+could live up there! But was she sure she'd become an angel? That
+reflection gradually brought her thoughts to the events of the
+preceding night.
+
+Though she could recall those events distinctly, Missy now saw them
+in a different kind of way. Now she was able to look at the evening
+as a whole, with herself merely a part of the whole. She regarded
+that sort of detached object which was herself. That detached Missy
+had gone to the meeting, and failed to find grace. Others had gone
+and found grace. Even though they had acted no differently from
+Missy. Like her they sang tunes; listened to the preacher; bowed the
+head; went forward and knelt at the feet of Jesus; repented; went
+back to the pews; stood up and testified--
+
+Oh!
+
+Suddenly Missy gave a little sound, and stirred. She puckered her
+brows in intense concentration. Perhaps--perhaps that was why!
+
+And then she made the Great Resolve.
+
+Soon after breakfast, Pete appeared with a bag of candy.
+
+"I don't deserve it," said Missy humbly.
+
+"You bet you don't!" acquiesced Pete.
+
+So even he recognized her state of sin! Her Great Resolve
+intensified.
+
+That morning, for the first time in her life at grandma's house,
+Missy shirked her "chores." She found paper and pencil, took a small
+Holy Bible, and stole back to the tool-house where grandpa kept his
+garden things and grandma her washtubs. For that which she now was
+to do, Missy would have preferred the more beautiful summerhouse at
+home; but grandma had no summerhouse, and this offered the only sure
+seclusion.
+
+She stayed out there a long time, seated on an upturned washtub;
+read the Holy Bible for awhile; then became absorbed in the
+ecstasies of composition. So engrossed was she that she didn't at
+first hear grandma calling her.
+
+Grandma was impatiently waiting on the back porch.
+
+"What in the world are you doing out there?" she demanded.
+
+Loath to lie, now, Missy made a compromise with her conscience.
+
+"I was reading the Holy Bible, grandma."
+
+Grandma's expression softened; and all she said was:
+
+"Well, dinner's waiting, now."
+
+Grandpa was staying down town and Pete was over at the Curriers', so
+there were only grandma and Missy at the table. Missy tried to
+attend to grandma's chatter and make the right answers in the right
+places. But her mind kept wandering; and once grandma caught her
+whispering.
+
+"What is the matter with you, Missy? What are you whispering about?"
+
+Guiltily Missy clapped her hand to her mouth.
+
+"Oh! was I whispering?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I guess it was just a piece I'm learning."
+
+"What piece?"
+
+"I--I--it's going to be a surprise."
+
+"Oh, another surprise? Well, that'll be nice," said grandma.
+
+Missy longed acutely to be alone. It was upsetting to have to carry
+on a conversation. That often throws you off of what's absorbing
+your thoughts.
+
+So she was glad when, after dinner, grandma said:
+
+"I think you'd better take a little nap, dear. You don't seem quite
+like yourself--perhaps you'd best not attempt the meeting to-night."
+
+That last was a bomb-shell; but Missy decided not to worry about
+such a possible catastrophe till the time should come. She found a
+chance to slip out to the tool-house and rescue the Holy Bible and
+the sheet of paper, the latter now so scratched out and interlined
+as to be unintelligible to anyone save an author.
+
+When at last she was alone in her room, she jumped out of bed--
+religion, it seems, sometimes makes deception a necessity.
+
+For a time she worked on the paper, bending close over it, cheeks
+flushed, eyes shining, whispering as she scratched.
+
+At supper, Missy was glad to learn that Pete had planned to attend
+the meeting that evening. "Revivals" were not exactly in Pete's
+line; but as long as Polly Currier had to be there, he'd decided he
+might as well go to see her home. Moreover, he'd persuaded several
+others of "the crowd" to go along and make a sort of party of it.
+
+And Missy's strained ears caught no ominous suggestion as to her own
+staying at home.
+
+Later, walking sedately to the church between her grandparents,
+Missy felt her heart beating so hard she feared they might hear it.
+Once inside the church, she drew a long breath. Oh, if only she
+didn't have so long to wait! How could she wait?
+
+Polly Currier was again seated on the choir platform, to night an
+angel in lavender mull. She had a bunch of pansies at her belt--
+pansies out of grandma's garden. Pete must have given them to her!
+She now and then smiled back toward the back pew where Pete and "the
+crowd" were sitting.
+
+To Missy's delight Polly sang a solo. It was "One Sweetly Solemn
+Thought"--oh, rapture! Polly's high soprano floated up clear and
+piercing-sweet. It was so beautiful that it hurt. Missy shut her
+eyes. She could almost see angels in misty white and floating golden
+hair. Something quivered inside her; once more on the wings of music
+was the religious feeling stealing back to her.
+
+The solo was finished, but Missy kept her eyes closed whenever she
+thought no one was looking. She was anxious to hold the religious
+feeling till her soul could be entirely born anew. And she had quite
+a long time to wait. That made her task difficult and complicated;
+for it's not easy at the same time to retain an emotional state and
+to rehearse a piece you're afraid of forgetting.
+
+But the service gradually wore through. Now they were at the "come
+forward and sit at the feet of Jesus." To-night grandpa and grandma
+didn't do that; they merely knelt in the pew with bowed heads. So
+Missy also knelt with bowed head. She was by this time in a state
+difficult to describe; a quivering jumble of excitement, eagerness,
+timidity, fear, hope, and exaltation. . .
+
+And now at last, was come the time!
+
+Brother Poole, again wearing the look on his face as of an electric
+light turned on within, exhorted the repentant ones to "stand up and
+testify."
+
+Missy couldn't bear to wait for someone else to begin. She jumped
+hastily to her feet. Grandma tried to pull her down. Missy frowned
+slightly--why was grandma tugging at her skirt? Tugging aways she
+extended her arms with palms flat together and thumbs extended--one
+of Brother Poole's most effective gestures--and began:
+
+"My soul rejoiceth because I have seen the light. Yea, it burns in
+my soul and my soul is restoreth. I will fear no evil even if it is
+born again. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days
+of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. I
+have been a sinner but--"
+
+Why was grandma pulling at her skirt? Missy twitched away and,
+raising her voice to a higher key, went on:
+
+"I said I've been a sinner, but I've repented my sins and want to
+lead a blameless life. I repent my sins--O Lord, please forgive me
+for being a spy-eye when Cousin Pete kissed Polly Currier, and guide
+me to lead a blameless life. Amen."
+
+She sat down.
+
+A great and heavenly stillness came and wrapped itself about her, a
+soft and velvety stillness; to shut out gasp or murmur or stifled
+titter.
+
+The miracle had happened! It was as if an inner light had been
+switched on; a warm white light which tingled through to every fibre
+of her being. Surely this was the flame divine! It was her soul
+being born anew. . .
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+"Your True Friend, Melissa M."
+
+Missy knew, the moment she opened her eyes, that golden June
+morning, that it was going to be a happy day. Missy, with Poppylinda
+purring beside her, found this mysterious, irradiant feeling flowing
+out of her heart almost as tangible as a third live being in her
+quaint little room. It seemed a sort of left-over, still vaguely
+attached, from the wonderful dream she had just been having. Trying
+to recall the dream, she shut her eyes again; Missy's one regret, in
+connection with her magical dreams, was that the sparkling essence
+of them was apt to become dim when she awoke. But now, when she
+opened her eyes, the suffusion still lingered.
+
+For a long, quiet, blissful moment, she lay smiling at the spot
+where the sunlight, streaming level through the lace-curtained
+window, fell on the rose-flowered chintz of the valances. Missy
+liked those colours very much; then her eyes followed the beam of
+light to where it spun a prism of fairy colours on the mirror above
+the high-boy, and she liked that ecstatically. She liked, too, by
+merely turning her head on the pillow, to glimpse, through the
+parting of the curtains, the ocean of blue sky with its flying cloud
+ships, so strange; and to hear the morning song of the birds and the
+happy hum of insects, the music seeming almost to filter through the
+lace curtains in a frescoed pattern which glided, alive, along the
+golden roadway of sunshine. She even liked the monotonous metallic
+rattle which betold that old Jeff was already at work with the lawn-
+mower.
+
+All this in a silent moment crammed to the full with vibrant
+ecstasy; then Missy remembered, specifically, the Wedding drawing
+every day nearer, and the new Pink Dress, and the glory to be hers
+when she should strew flowers from a huge leghorn hat, and her
+rapture brimmed over. Physically and spiritually unable to keep
+still another second, she suddenly sat up.
+
+"Oh, Poppylinda!" she whispered. "I'm so happy--so happy!"
+
+Everyone knows--that is, everyone who knows kittens--that kittens,
+like babies, listen with their eyes. To Missy's whispered
+confidence, Poppylinda, without stirring, opened her lids and
+blinked her yellow eyes.
+
+"Aren't you happy, too? Say you're happy, Poppy, darling!"
+
+Poppy was stirred to such depths that mere eye-blinking could not
+express her emotion. She opened her mouth, so as to expose
+completely her tiny red tongue, and then, without lingual endeavour,
+began to hum a gentle, crooning rumble down somewhere near her
+stomach. Yes; Poppy was happy.
+
+The spirit of thanksgiving glamorously enwrapped these two all the
+time Missy was dressing. Like the efficient big girl of twelve that
+she was, Missy drew her own bath and, later, braided her own hair
+neatly. As she tied the ribbons on those braids, now crossed in a
+"coronet" over her head, she gave the ghost of a sigh. This morning
+she didn't want to wear her every-day bows; but dutifully she tied
+them on, a big brown cabbage above each ear. When she had scrambled
+into her checked gingham "sailor suit," all spick and span, Missy
+stood eying herself in the mirror for a wistful moment, wishing her
+tight braids might metamorphose into lovely, hanging curls like
+Kitty Allen's. They come often to a "strange child"--these moments
+of vague longing to overhear one's self termed a "pretty child"--
+especially on the eve of an important occasion.
+
+But thoughts of that important occasion speedily chased away
+consciousness of self. And downstairs in the cheerful dining room,
+with the family all gathered round the table, Missy, her cheeks
+glowing pink and her big grey eyes ashine, found it difficult to eat
+her oatmeal, for very rapture. In the bay window, the geraniums on
+the sill nodded their great, biossomy heads at her knowingly.
+Beyond, the big maple was stirring its leaves, silver side up, like
+music in the breeze. Away across the yard, somewhere, Jeff was
+making those busy, restful sounds with the lawn-mower. These
+alluring things, and others stretching out to vast mental distances,
+quite deadened, for Missy, the family's talk close at hand.
+
+"When I ran over to the Greenleaf's to borrow the sugar," Aunt
+Nettie was saying, "May White was there, and she and Helen hurried
+out of the dining room when they saw me. I'm sure they'd been
+crying, and--"
+
+"S-sh!" warned Mrs. Merriam, with a glance toward Missy. Then, in a
+louder tone: "Eat your cereal, Missy. Why are you letting it get
+cold?"
+
+Missy brought her eyes back from space with an answering smile. "I
+was thinking," she explained.
+
+"What of, Missy?" This, encouragingly, from father.
+
+"Oh, my dream, last night."
+
+"What did you dream about?"
+
+"Oh--mountains," replied Missy, somewhat vaguely.
+
+"For the land's sake!" exclaimed Aunt Nettie. "What ever put such a
+thing into her head? She never saw a mountain in her life!" Grown-
+ups have a disconcerting way of speaking of children, even when
+present, in the third person. But Aunt Nettie finally turned to
+Missy with a direct (and dreaded): "What did they look like, Missy?"
+
+"Oh--mountains," returned Missy, still vague.
+
+At a sign from mother, the others did not press her further. When
+she had finished her breakfast, Missy approached her mother, and the
+latter, reading the question in her eyes, asked:
+
+"Well, what is it, Missy?"
+
+"I feel--like pink to-day," faltered Missy, half-embarrassed.
+
+But her mother did not ask for explanation. She only pondered a
+moment.
+
+"You know," reminded the supplicant, "I have to try on the Pink
+Dress this morning."
+
+"Very well, then," granted mother. "But only the second-best ones."
+
+Missy's face brightened and she made for the door.
+
+Before she got altogether out of earshot, Aunt Nettie began: "I
+don't know that it's wise to humour her in her notions. 'Feel like
+pink!'--what in the world does she mean by that?"
+
+Missy was glad the question had not been put to her; for, to have
+saved her life, she couldn't have answered it intelligibly. She was
+out of hearing too soon to catch her mother's answer:
+
+"She's just worked up over the wedding, and being a flower-girl and
+all."
+
+"Well, I don't believe," stated Aunt Nettie with the assurance that
+spinsters are wont to show in discussing such matters, "that it's
+good for children to let them work themselves up that way. She'll be
+as much upset as the bridegroom if Helen does back out."
+
+"Oh, I don't think old Mrs. Greenleaf would ever let her break it
+off, now" said Mrs. Merriam, stooping to pick up the papers which
+her husband had left strewn over the floor.
+
+"She's hard as rocks," agreed Aunt Nettie.
+
+"Though," Mrs. Merriam went on, "when it's a question of her
+daughter's happiness--"
+
+"A little unhappiness would serve Helen Green leaf right," commented
+the other tartly. "She's spoiled to death and a flirt. I think it
+was a lucky day for young Doc Alison when she jilted him."
+
+"She's just young and vain," championed Mrs. Merriam, carefully
+folding the papers and laying them in the rack. "Any pretty girl in
+Helen's position couldn't help being spoiled. And you must admit
+nothing's ever turned her head--Europe, or her visits to Cleveland,
+or anything."
+
+"The Cleveland man is handsome," said Aunt Nettie irrelevantly--the
+Cleveland man was the bridegroom-elect.
+
+"Yes, in a stylish, sporty kind of way. But I don't know--" She
+hesitated a moment, then concluded: "Missy doesn't like him."
+
+At that Aunt Nettie laughed with genuine mirth. "What on earth do
+you think a child would know about it?" she ridiculed.
+
+Meanwhile the child, whose departure had thus loosed free speech,
+was leagues distant from the gossip and the unrest which was its
+source. Her pink hair bows, even the second-best ones, lifted her to
+a state which made it much pleasanter to idle in her window,
+sniffing at the honey-suckle, than to hurry down to the piano. She
+longed to make up something which, like a tune of water rippling
+over pink pebbles, was running through her head. But faithfully, at
+last, she toiled through her hour, and then was called on to mind
+the Baby.
+
+This last duty was a real pleasure. For she could wheel the
+perambulator off to the summerhouse, in a secluded, sweet-smelling
+corner of the yard, and there recite poetry aloud. To reinforce
+those verses she knew by heart, she carried along the big Anthology
+which, in its old-blue binding, contrasted so satisfyingly with the
+mahogany table in the sitting-room. The first thing she read was
+"Before the Beginning of Years" from "Atalanta in Calydon;" Missy
+especially adored Swinburne--so liltingly incomprehensible.
+
+The performance, as ever, was highly successful all around. Baby
+really enjoyed it and Poppylinda as well, both of them blinking in
+placid appreciation. And as for Missy, the liquid sound of the
+metres rolling off her own lips, the phrases so beautiful and so
+"deep," seemed to lift a choking something right up into her throat
+until she could have wept with the sweet pain of it. She did, as a
+matter of fact, happy tears, about which her two auditors asked no
+embarrassing question. Baby merely gurgled, and Poppylinda essayed
+to climb the declaimer's skirts.
+
+"Sit down, sad Soul!" Missy's mood could no longer even attempt to
+mate with prose. She turned through the pages of the Anthology until
+she came to another favourite:
+
+So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight
+like young Lochinvar.
+
+This she read through, with a fine, swinging rhythm. "I think that
+last stanza's perfectly exquisite--don't you?" Missy enquired of her
+mute audience. And she repeated it, as unctuously as though she were
+the poet herself. Then, quite naturally, this romance recalled to
+her the romance next door, so deliciously absorbing her waking and
+dreaming hours--the romance of her own Miss Princess. Miss Princess-
+-Missy's more formal adaptation of Young Doc's soubriquet for Helen
+Greenleaf in the days of his romance--was the most beautiful heroine
+imaginable. And the Wedding was next week, and Missy was to walk
+first of all the six flower-girls, and the Pink Dress was all but
+done, and the Pink Stockings--silk!--were upstairs in the third
+drawer of the high-boy! Oh, it was a golden world, radiant with joy.
+Of course--it's only earth, after all, and not heaven--she'd rather
+the bridegroom was going to be young Doc. But Miss Princess had
+arranged it this other way--her bridegroom had come out of the East.
+And the Wedding was almost here! . . . There never was morning so
+fair, nor grass so vivid and shiny, nor air so soft. Above her head
+the cherry-buds were swelling, almost ready to burst. From the open
+windows of the house, down the street, sounds from a patient piano,
+flattered by distance, betokened that Kitty Allen was struggling
+with "Perpetual Motion"; Missy, who had finished her struggles with
+that abomination-to-beginners a month previously felt her sense of
+beatitude deepen.
+
+Presently into this Elysium floated her mother's voice, summoning
+her to the house. Rounding the corner of the back walk with the
+perambulator, she collided with the grocer-boy. He was a nice-
+mannered boy, picking up the Anthology and Baby's doll from the
+ground, and handing them to her with a charming smile. Besides, he
+had very bright, sparkling eyes. Missy fancied he must be some lost
+Prince, and inwardly resolved to make up, as soon as alone, a story
+to this effect.
+
+In the house, mother told her it was time to go to Miss Martin's to
+try on the Pink Dress.
+
+Down the street, she encountered Mr. Hackett, the rich bridegroom
+come out of the East, a striking figure, on that quiet street, in
+the natty white flannels suggesting Cleveland, Atlantic City, and
+other foreign places.
+
+"Well, if here isn't Sappho!" he greeted her gaily. Missy blushed.
+Not for worlds had she suspected he was hearing her, that unlucky
+morning in the grape-arbour, when she recited her latest Poem to
+Miss Princess. Now she smiled perfunctorily, and started to pass
+him.
+
+But Mr. Hackett, swinging his stick, stood with his feet wide apart
+and looked down at her.
+
+"How's the priestess of song, this fine morning?" he persisted.
+
+"All-right," stammered Missy.
+
+He laughed, as if actually enjoying her confusion. Missy observed
+that his eyes were red-rimmed, and his face a pasty white. She
+wondered whether he was sick; but he jauntily waved his stick at her
+and went on his way.
+
+Missy, a trifle subdued, continued hers.
+
+But oh, it is a wonderful world! You never know what any moment may
+bring you. Adventures fairy-sent surprises, await you at the most
+unexpected turns, spring at you from around the first corner.
+
+It was around the very first corner, in truth, that Missy met young
+Doc Alison, buzzing leisurely along in his Ford.
+
+"Hello, Missy," he greeted. "Like a lift?"
+
+Missy would. Young Doc jumped out, and, in a deferential manner she
+admired very much, assisted her into the little car as though she
+were a grown-up and lovely young lady. Young Doc was a nice man. She
+knew him well. He had felt her pulse, looked at her tongue, sent her
+Valentines, taken her riding, and shown her many other little
+courtesies for as far back as she could remember. Then, too, she
+greatly admired his looks. He was tall and lean and wiry. His face
+was given to quick flashes of smiling; and his eyes could be dreamy
+or luminous. He resembled, Missy now decided--and marvelled she
+hadn't noticed it before--that other young man, Lochinvar, "so
+faithful in love and so dauntless in war."
+
+When young Doc politely enquired whether she could steal enough time
+from her errand to turn about for a run up "The Boulevard," Missy
+acquiesced. She regretted she hadn't worn her shirred mull hat. But
+she decided not to worry about that. After all, her appearance, at
+the present moment, didn't so much matter. What did matter was the
+way she was going to look next Wednesday--and she excitedly began
+telling young Doc about her coming magnificence, "It's silk
+organdie," she said in a reverent tone, "and has garlands of
+rosebuds." She went on and told him of the big leghorn hat to be
+filled with flowers, of the Pink Stockings--best of all, silk!--
+waiting, in tissue-paper, in the high-boy drawer.
+
+"Oh, I can hardly wait!" she concluded rapturously.
+
+Young Doc, guiding the car around the street-sprinkling wagon, did
+not answer. Beyond the wagon, Mr. Hackett, whom the Ford had
+overtaken, was swinging along. Missy turned to young Doc with a
+slight grimace.
+
+"'The poor craven bridegroom said never a word,'" she quoted.
+
+Young Doc permitted himself to smile--not too much. "Why don't you
+like him, Missy?"
+
+Missy shook her head, without other reply. It would have been
+difficult for her to express why she didn't like stylish Mr.
+Hackett.
+
+"I wish," she said suddenly, "that you were going to be the
+bridegroom, Doc."
+
+He smiled a wry smile at her. "Well, to tell the truth, I wish so,
+too, Missy."
+
+"Well, she'll be coming back to visit us often, and maybe you can
+take us out riding again."
+
+"Maybe--but after getting used to big imported cars, I'm afraid one
+doesn't care much for a Ford."
+
+There was a note of cynicism, of pain, which, because she didn't
+know what it was, cut Missy to the heart. It is all very well, in
+Romance and Poems, to meet with unhappy, discarded lovers--they
+played an essential part in many of the best ballads in the
+Anthology; but when that romantic role falls, in real life, on the
+shoulders of a nice young Doc, the matter assumes a different
+complexion. Missy's own ecstasy over the Wedding suddenly loomed
+thoughtless, selfish, wicked. She longed timidly to reach over and
+pat that lean brown hand resting on the steering-wheel. Two
+sentences she formed in her mind, only to abandon them unspoken,
+when, to her relief, the need for delicate diplomacy was temporarily
+removed by the car's slowing to a stop before Miss Martin's gate.
+
+Inside the little white cottage, however, in Miss Martin's sitting-
+room--so queer and fascinating with its "forms," its samples and
+"trimmings" pinned to the curtains, its alluring display of fashion
+magazines and "charts," and its eternal litter of varicoloured
+scraps over the floor--Missy's momentary dejection could but vanish.
+Finally, when in Miss Martin's artfully tilted cheval glass, she
+surveyed the pink vision which was herself, gone, for the time, was
+everything of sadness in the world. She turned her head this way and
+that, craning to get the effect from every angle-the bouffance of
+the skirt, the rosebuds wreathing the sides, the butterfly sash in
+the back. Adjured by Miss Martin to stand still, she stood vibrantly
+poised like a lily-stem waiting the breath of the wind; bade to
+"lift up your arms," she obeyed and visioned winged fairies alert
+for flight. Even when Miss Martin, carried away by her zeal in
+fitting, stuck a pin through the pink tissue clear into the warmer,
+softer pink beneath, Missy scarcely felt the prick.
+
+But, at the midday dinner-table, that sympathetic uneasiness
+returned. Father, home from the office, was full of indignation over
+something "disgraceful" he had heard down town. Though the
+conversation was held tantalizingly above Missy's full
+comprehension, she could gather that the "disgrace" centred in the
+bachelor dinner which Mr. Hackett had given at the Commercial House
+the night before. Father evidently held no high opinion of the
+introduction of "rotten Cleveland performances" nor of the man who
+had introduced them.
+
+"What 'rotten Cleveland performances'?" asked Missy with lively
+curiosity.
+
+"Oh, just those late, indigestible suppers," cut in mother quickly.
+"Rich food at that hour just kills your stomach. Here, don't you
+want another strawberry tart, Missy?"
+
+Missy didn't; but she affected a desire for it, and then a keen
+interest in its consumption. By this artifice, she hoped she might
+efface herself as a hindrance to continuation of the absorbing talk.
+But it is a trick of grown-ups to stop dead at the most thrilling
+points; though she consumed the last crumb of the tart, her ears
+gained no reward, until mother said:
+
+"As soon as you've finished dinner, Missy, I wish you'd run over to
+Greenleafs' and ask to borrow Miss Helen's new kimono pattern."
+
+Missy brightened. The sight of old Mrs. Greenleaf and Miss Princess,
+bustling gaily about, would lift this strange cloud gathering so
+ominously. She asked permission to carry along a bunch of sweet
+peas, and gathered the kind Miss Princess liked best--pinkish
+lavender blossoms, a delicious colour like the very fringe of a
+rainbow.
+
+The Greenleafs' coloured maid let her in and showed her into the
+"den" back of the parlour. "I'll tell Mrs. Greenleaf," she said.
+"They're all busy upstairs."
+
+Very busy they must have been, for Missy had restlessly dangled her
+feet for what seemed hours, before she heard voices approaching the
+parlour.
+
+"Oh, I won't--I won't--" It was Miss Princess's voice, almost
+unrecognizably high and quavering.
+
+"Now, just listen a minute, darling--" This unmistakably Mr.
+Hackett's languorous, curiously repellent monotone.
+
+"Don't you touch me!"
+
+Missy, stricken by the knowledge she was eavesdropping, peered about
+for a means of slipping out. But the only door, portiere-hung, was
+the one leading into the parlour. And now this concealed poor
+blundering Missy from the speakers while it allowed their talk to
+drift through.
+
+That talk, stormy and utterly incomprehensible, filled the child
+with a growing sense of terror. Accusations, quick pleadings, angry
+retorts, attempts at explanation, all formed a dreadful muttering
+background out of which shot, like sharp streaks of lightning,
+occasional clearly-caught phrases: "Charlie White came home dead
+drunk, I tell you--" "--You know I'm mad about you, Helen, or I
+wouldn't--" "--Oh, don't you touch me!"
+
+To Missy, trapped and shaking with panic, the storm seemed to have
+raged hours before she detected a third voice, old Mrs. Greenleaf s,
+which cut calm and controlled across the area of passion.
+
+"You'd better go out a little while, Porter, and let me talk to
+her."
+
+Then another interminable stretch of turmoil, this all the more
+terrifying because less violent.
+
+"Oh, mother-I can't--" Anger, spent, had given way to broken
+sobbing.
+
+"I understand how you feel, dear. But you'll--"
+
+"I despise him!"
+
+"I understand, dear. All girls get frightened and--"
+
+"But it isn't that, mother. I don't love him. I can't go on. Won't
+you, this minute, tell him--tell everybody--?"
+
+"Darling, don't you realize I can't?" Missy had never before heard
+old Mrs. Greenleaf's voice tremble.
+
+"The invitation, and the trousseau, and the presents, and
+everything. Think of the scandal, dear. We couldn't. Don't you see,
+dear, we can't back out, now?"
+
+"O-o-oh."
+
+"I almost wish--but don't you see--?"
+
+"Oh, I can't stand it another hour!"
+
+"You're excited, dear," soothingly. "You'd better go rest a while.
+I'll have a good talk with Porter. And you go upstairs and lie down.
+The Carrolls' dinner--"
+
+"Oh, dinners, luncheons, clothes. I--"
+
+The despairing sound of Miss Princess's cry, and the throbbing
+realization that these were calamities she must not overhear, stung
+Missy to renewed reconnoitering. Tiptoeing over to the window, she
+fumbled at the fastening of the screen, swung it outward, and,
+contemplating a jump to the sward below, thrust one foot over the
+sill.
+
+"Hello, there! What are you up to?"
+
+On the side porch, not twenty feet away, Mr. Hackett was regarding
+her with amazed and hostile eyes. Missy's heart thumped against her
+ribs. Her consternation was not lessened when, tossing away his
+cigarette with a vindictive gesture, he added: "Stay where you are!"
+
+Missy slackened her hold and crouched back like a hunted criminal.
+And like a hunted criminal he condemned her, a moment later, to old
+Mrs. Greenleaf.
+
+"That kid from next door has been snooping in here. I caught her
+trying to sneak out."
+
+Missy faltered out her explanation.
+
+"I know it wasn't your fault, dear," said old Mrs. Greenleaf kindly.
+"What was it you wanted?"
+
+Her errand forgotten, Missy could only attempt a smile and dumbly
+extend the bouquet.
+
+Old Mrs. Greenleaf took the flowers, then spoke over her shoulder:
+"I think Helen wants you upstairs, Porter." Missy had always thought
+she was like a Roman Matron; now it was upsetting to see the Roman
+Matron so upset.
+
+"Miss Helen's got a terrible headache and is lying down," said old
+Mrs. Greenleaf, fussing over the flowers.
+
+"Oh," said Missy, desperately tongue-tied and ill-at-ease.
+
+For a long second it endured portentously still in the room and in
+the world without; then like a sharp thunder-clap out of a summer
+sky, a door slammed upstairs. There was a sound of someone running
+down the steps, and Missy glimpsed Mr. Hackett going out the front
+door, banging the screen after him.
+
+At the last noise, old Mrs. Greenleaf's shoulders stiffened as if
+under a lash. But she turned quietly and said:
+
+"Thank you so much for the flowers, Missy. I'll give them to her
+after a while, when she's better. And you can see her to-morrow."
+
+It was the politest of dismissals. Missy, having remembered the
+pattern, hurriedly got it and ran home. She had seen a suspicion of
+tears in old Mrs. Greenleaf's eyes. It was as upsetting as though
+the bronze Winged Victory on the parlour mantel should begin to
+weep.
+
+All that afternoon Missy sought solitude. She refused to play
+croquet with Kitty Allen when that beautiful and most envied friend
+appeared. When Kitty took herself home, offended, Missy went out to
+the remote summerhouse, relieved. She looked back, now, on her
+morning's careless happiness as an old man looks back on the heyday
+of his youth.
+
+Heavy with sympathy, non-comprehension and fear, she brooded over
+these dark, mysterious hints about the handsome Cleveland man; over
+young Doc's blighted love; over Miss Princess's wanting to "back
+out"; over old Mrs. Greenleaf's strange, dominant "pride."
+
+Why did Miss Princess want to "back out"?--Miss Princess with her
+beautiful coppery hair, and eager parted lips, and eyes of
+mysterious purple (Missy lingered on the reflection "eyes of
+mysterious purple" long enough to foreshadow a future poem including
+that line). Was it because she still loved Doc? If so, why didn't it
+turn out all right, since Doc loved her, too? Surely that would be
+better, since there seemed to be something wrong with Mr. Hackett--
+even though everybody did talk about what a wonderful match he was.
+Then they talked about invitations and things as though old Mrs.
+Greenleaf thought those things counted for more than the bridegroom.
+Old Mrs. Greenleaf, Missy was sure, loved Miss Princess better than
+anything else in the world: then how could she, even if she was
+"proud," twist things so foolishly?
+
+She had brought with her the blue-bound Anthology and a writing-pad
+and pencil. First she read a little--"Lochinvar" it was she opened
+to. Then she meditated. Poor Young Doc! The whole unhappy situation
+was like poetry. (So much in life she was finding, these days, like
+poetry.) This would make a very sad, but effective poem: the
+faithful, unhappy lover, the lovely, unhappy bride, the mother
+keeping them asunder who, though stern, was herself unhappy, and the
+craven bridegroom who--she hoped it, anyway!--was unhappy also.
+
+In all this unhappiness, though she didn't suspect it, Missy
+revelled--a peculiar kind of melancholy tuned to the golden day. She
+detected a subtle restlessness in the shimmering leaves about her;
+the scent of the June roses caught at something elusively sad in
+her. Without knowing why, her eyes filled with tears.
+
+She drew the writing-pad to her; conjured the vision of nice Doc and
+of Miss Princess, and, immersed in a sea of feeling, sought for
+words and rhyme:
+
+
+O, young Doctor Al is the pride of the West,
+Than big flashy autos his Ford is the best;
+Ah! courtly that lover and faithful and true.
+And fair, wondrous fair, the maiden was, too.
+But O--dire the day! when from Cleveland afar--
+
+
+A long pause here: "car," "scar," "jar,"--all tried and discarded.
+Finally sense, rhyme and meter were attuned:
+
+
+--afar,
+A dastard she met, their sweet idyl to mar.
+
+He won her away with his glitter and plume
+And citified ways, while the lover did fume.
+O, fair dawned the Wedding Day, pink in the East,
+And folk from all quarters did come for the feast;
+Gay banners from turrets--
+
+
+"Missy!"
+
+The poet, head bent, absorbed in creation, did not hear.
+
+"Missy! Where are you? Me-lis-sa!"
+
+This time the voice cleaved into the mood of inspiration. With a
+sigh Missy put the pad and pencil in the Anthology, laid the whole
+on the bench, and obediently went to mind the Baby. But, as she
+wheeled the perambulator up and down the front walk, her mind
+liltingly repeated the words she had written, and she stepped along
+in time to the rhythm. It was a fine rhythm. And, as soon as she was
+relieved from duty, she rushed back to the temporary shrine of the
+Muse. The words, now, flowed much more easily than at the beginning-
+-one of the first lessons learned by all creative artists.
+
+
+Gay banners from turrets streamed out in the air
+And all Maple, Avenue turned out for the pair.
+Ah! beauteous was she, that white-satin young bride,
+But sorrow had reddened her deep purple eyes.
+Each clatter of hoofs from the courtyard below
+Did summon the blood swift to ebb and then flow;
+For the gem on her finger, the flower in her hair,
+Bound not her sad heart to that Cleveland man there.
+
+Ah! who is this riding so fast through Main Street?
+The gallant young lover--
+
+
+Again, reiterant and increasingly imperative, summons from the house
+slashed across her mood. Can't one's family ever appreciate the
+yearning for solitude? However, even amid the talkative circle round
+the supper-table, Missy felt uplifted and strangely remote.
+
+"Why aren't you eating your supper, Missy? Just look at that wasted
+good meat!"
+
+"Meat," though a good rhyme for "street,' would not work well.
+"Neat"--"fleet"--Ah! "Fleet!"
+
+Immediately after supper, followed by the inquisitive Poppylinda,
+Missy took her poem out to the comparative solitude of the back
+porch steps. It was very sweet and still out there, the sun sinking
+blood-red over the cherry trees. With no difficulty at all, she went
+on, inspired:
+
+
+--Main Street?
+
+The gallant young Doctor in his motor so fleet!
+So flashing his eye and so stately his form
+That the bride's sinking heart with delight did grow warm.
+But the poor craven bridegroom said never a word;
+And the parent so proud did champ in her woe.
+
+The knight snatched her swiftly into the Ford,
+And she smiled as he steered adown the Boulevard;
+Then away they did race until soon lost to view,
+And all knew 'twas best for these lovers so true.
+For where, tell me where, would have gone that bride's bliss?
+Who flouts at true love all true happiness must miss!
+
+What matters the vain things of Earth, soon or late,
+If the heart of a loved one in anguish doth break?
+
+
+When she came to the triumphant close, among the fragrant cherry
+blooms the birds were twittering their lullabies. She went in to say
+her own good night, the Poem, much erased and interlined, tucked in
+the front of her blouse together with ineffable sensations. But she
+was not, for all that, beyond a certain concern for material
+details. "Mother, may I do my hair up in kid-curlers?" she asked.
+
+"Why, this is only Wednesday." Mother's tone connoted the fact that
+"waves," rippling artificially either side of Missy's "part" down to
+her two braids, achieved a decorative effect reserved for Sundays
+and special events. Then quickly, perhaps because she hadn't been
+altogether unaware of this last visitation of the Heavenly Muse, she
+added: "Well, I don't care. Do it up, if you want to."
+
+Then, moved by some motive of her own, she followed Missy upstairs
+to do it up herself. These occasions of personal service were rare,
+these days, since Missy had grown big and efficient, and were
+therefore deeply cherished. But to-night Missy almost regretted her
+mother's unexpected ministration; for the paper in her blouse
+crackled at unwary gestures, and if mother should protract her stay
+throughout the undressing period, there might come an awkward call
+for explanations.
+
+And mother, innocently, added one more element to her entangled
+burden of distress.
+
+"We'll do it up all over your head, for the Wedding," she said,
+gently brushing the full length of the fine, silvery-brown strands.
+"And let it hang in loose curls."
+
+At the conjectured vision, Missy's eyes began to sparkle.
+
+"And I think a ribbon band the colour of your dress would be
+pretty," mother went on, parting off a section and wrapping it round
+a "curler." A sudden remembrance clutched at Missy's ecstatic reply;
+the shine faded from her eyes. But mother, engrossed, didn't
+observe; more deeply she sank her unintentional barb. "No," she
+mused aloud, "a garland of little rosebuds would be better, I
+believe-tiny delicate little buds, tied with a pink bow."
+
+At that, the prospective flower-girl, to have saved her life, could
+not have repressed the sigh which rose like a tidal wave from her
+overcharged heart. Mother caught the sigh, and looked at her
+anxiously. "Don't you think it would look pretty?" she asked.
+
+Missy nodded mutely. So complex were her emotions that, fearing for
+self-control, she was glad, just then, that the Baby cried.
+
+As soon as mother had kissed her good night and left her, she pulled
+out the paper rustling importantly within her blouse, and laid it in
+the celluloid "treasure box" which sat on the high-boy. Then soberly
+she finished the operation on her hair, and undressed herself.
+
+Before getting into bed, after her regular prayer was said, she
+stayed awhile on her knees and put the whole of her seething dilemma
+before God. "Dear God," she said, "you know how unhappy Miss
+Princess is and young Doc, too. Please make them both happy, God.
+And please help me not feel sorry about the Pink Dress. For I just
+can't help feeling sorry. Please help us all, dear God, and I'll be
+such a good girl, God."
+
+Perhaps it is the biggest gift in the world, to be able to pray.
+And, by prayer, is not meant the saying over of a formal code, but
+the simple, direct speaking with God. It is so simple in the doing,
+so marvellous in its reaction, that the strange thing is that it is
+not more generally practiced. But there is where the gift comes in:
+a supreme essence of spirit which must, if the prayer is to achieve
+its end, be first possessed-a thing possessed by all children not
+yet quite rid of the glamour of immortality and by some, older, who
+contrive to hold enough glamour to be as children throughout life.
+Some call this thing Faith, but there are other names just as good;
+and the essence lives on forever.
+
+These reflections are not Missy's. She knelt there, without
+consciousness of any motive or analysis. She only knew she was
+telling it all to God. And presently, in her heart, in whispers
+fainter than the stir of the slumbering leaves outside, she heard
+His answer. God had heard; she knew it by the peace He laid upon her
+tumultuous heart.
+
+Steeped in faith, she fell asleep. But not a dreamless sleep. Missy
+always dreamed, these nights: wonderful dreams--magical, splendid,
+sometimes vaguely terrifying, often remotely tied up with some event
+of the day, but always wonderful. And the last dream she dreamed,
+this eventful night, was marvellous indeed. For it was a replica of
+the one she had dreamed the night before.
+
+It was an omen of divine portent. No one could have doubted it.
+Missy, waking from its subtle glamour to the full sunlight streaming
+across her pillow, hugged Poppylinda, crooned over her and, though
+preparing to sacrifice that golden something whose prospect had
+gilded her life, sang her way through the duties of her toilet.
+
+That accomplished, she lifted out her Poem, and wrote at the bottom:
+"Your true friend, MELISSA M."
+
+Then she tucked the two sheets in her blouse, and scrambled
+downstairs to be chided again for not eating her breakfast.
+
+After the last spoonful, obligatory and arduous, had been disposed
+of, she loitered near the hall telephone until there was a clear
+field, then called Young Doc's number. What a relief to find he had
+not yet gone out! Could he stop by her house, pretty soon? Why, what
+was the matter--Doc's voice was alarmed--someone sick?
+
+"No, but it's something very important, Doc."
+
+Missy's manner was hurried and impressive.
+
+"Won't it wait?"
+
+"It's terribly important."
+
+"What is it? Can't you tell me now, Missy?"
+
+"No--it's a secret. And I've got to hurry up now and hang up the
+phone because it's a secret."
+
+"I see. All right, I'll be along in about fifteen minutes. What do
+you want me to--"
+
+"Stop by the summerhouse," she cut in nervously. "I'll be there."
+
+It seemed a long time, but in reality was shorter than schedule,
+before Young Doc's car appeared up the side street. He brought it to
+a stop opposite the summerhouse, jumped out and approached the
+rendezvous.
+
+Summoning all her courage, she held the Poem ready in her hand.
+
+"Good morning, Missy," he sang out. "What's all the mystery?"
+
+For answer Missy could only smile--a smile made wan by nervousness--
+and extend the two crumpled sheets of paper.
+
+Young Doc took them curiously, smiled at the primly-lettered,
+downhill lines, and then narrowed his eyes to skimming absorption. A
+strange expression gathered upon his face as he read. Missy didn't
+know exactly what to make of his working muscles--whether he was
+pained or angry or amused. But she was entirely unprepared for the
+fervour with which, when he finished, he seized her by the shoulders
+and bounced her up and down.
+
+"Did you make all this up?" he cried. "Or do you mean she really
+doesn't want to marry that bounder?"
+
+"She really doesn't," answered Missy, not too engaged in steeling
+herself against his crunching of her shoulder bones to register the
+soubriquet, "bounder."
+
+"Are you sure you didn't make most of it up?" Young Doc knew well
+Missy's strain of romanticism. But she strove to convince him that,
+for once, she was by way of being a realist.
+
+"She despises him. She can't bear to go on with it. She can't stand
+it another hour. I heard her say so myself." Young Doc, crunching
+her shoulder bones worse than ever, breathed hard, but said nothing.
+Missy proffered bashfully:
+
+"I think, maybe, she wants to marry you, Doc."
+
+Young Doc then, just at the moment she couldn't have borne the vise
+a second longer, let go her shoulders, and smiled a smile which, for
+her, would have eased a splintered bone itself.
+
+"We'll quickly find that out," he said, and his voice was more
+buoyant than she had heard it in months. "Missy, do you think you
+could get a note to her right away?"
+
+Missy nodded eagerly.
+
+He scribbled the note on the back of a letter and folded it with the
+Poem in the used envelope. "There won't be any answer," he directed
+Missy, "unless she brings it herself. Just get it to her without
+anyone's seeing."
+
+Missy nodded again, vibrant with repressed excitement. "I'll just
+pretend it's a secret about a poem. Miss Princess always helps make
+secrets about poems."
+
+Evidently Miss Princess did so this time. For, after an eternity of
+ten minutes, Young Doc, peering through the leaves of the
+summerhouse, saw Missy and her convoy coming across the lawn. Missy
+was walking along very solemnly, with only an occasional skip to
+betray the ebullition within her.
+
+But it was on the tall girl that Young Doc's gaze was riveted, the
+slender graceful figure which, for all its loveliness, had something
+pathetically drooping about it--like a lily with a storm-bruised
+stem.
+
+Something in Young Doc's throat clicked, and every last trace of
+resentment and wounded pride magically dissolved. He went straight
+to her in the doorway, and for a moment they stood there as if
+forgetful of everyone else in the world. Neither spoke, as is the
+way of those whose minds and hearts are full of inarticulate things.
+Then it was Doc who broke the silence.
+
+"By the way, Missy," he said in quite an ordinary tone, "there are
+some of those sugar pills in a bag out in the Ford. You'll find them
+tucked in a corner of the seat."
+
+Obediently Missy departed to get the treat. And when she returned,
+not too quickly, Miss Princess was laughing and crying both at once,
+and Young Doc was openly squeezing both her hands.
+
+"Missy," he hailed, "run in and ask your mother if you can go for a
+ride. Needn't mention Miss Princess is going along."
+
+O, it is a wonderful world! Swiftly back at the trysting place with
+the necessary permission, tucked into the Ford between the two happy
+lovers, "away they did race until soon lost to view."
+
+And exactly the same happy purpose as that in the Poem! For, half-
+way down the stretch of Boulevard, Miss Princess squeezed her hand
+and said:
+
+"We're going over to Somerville, darling, to be married, and you're
+to be one of the witnesses."
+
+Missy's heart surged with delight--O, it was a wonderful world! Then
+a dart of remembrance came, and a big tear spilled out and ran down
+her cheek. Miss Princess, in the midst of a laugh, looked down and
+spied it.
+
+"Why, darling, what is it?" she cried anxiously.
+
+"My Pink Dress--I just happened to think of it. But it doesn't
+really make any difference." However Missy's eyes were wet and
+shining with an emotion she couldn't quite control.
+
+With eyes which were shining with many emotions, the man and girl,
+over her head, regarded each other. It was the man who spoke first,
+slowing down the car as he did so.
+
+"Don't you think we'd better run back to Miss Martin's and get it?"
+
+For answer, his sweetheart leaned across Missy and kissed him.
+
+A fifteen minutes' delay, and again the Ford was headed towards
+Somerville and the County Courthouse; but now an additional
+passenger, a big brown box, was hugged between Missy's knees. In the
+County Courthouse she did not forget to guard this box tenderly all
+the time Young Doc and Miss Princess were scurrying around musty
+offices, interviewing important, shirt-sleeved men, and signing
+papers--not even when she herself was permitted to sign her name to
+an imposing document, "just for luck," as Doc laughingly said.
+
+Then he bent his head to hear what Miss Princess wanted to whisper
+to him, and they both laughed some more; and then he said something
+to the shirtsleeved men, and they laughed; and then--O, it is a
+wonderful world!--Miss Princess took her into a dusty, paper-
+littered inner office, lifted the Pink Dress out of the box, dressed
+Missy up in it, fluffed out the "wave" in her front hair, and
+exclaimed that she was the loveliest little flower-girl in the whole
+world.
+
+"Even without the flower-hat and the pink stockings?"
+
+"Even without the flower-hat and the pink stockings," said Miss
+Princess with such assurance that Missy cast off doubt forever.
+
+After the Wedding--and never in Romance was such a gay, laughing
+Wedding--when again they were all packed in the Ford, Missy gave a
+contented sigh.
+
+"I kind of knew it," she confided. "For I dreamed it all, two nights
+running. Both times I had on the Pink Dress, and both times it was
+Doc. I'm so happy it's Doc."
+
+And over her head the other two looked in each other's eyes.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+LIKE A SINGING BIRD
+
+
+She was fourteen, going on fifteen; and the world was a fascinating
+place. There were people who found Cherryvale a dull, poky little
+town to live in, but not Melissa. Not even in winter, when school
+and lessons took up so much time that it almost shut out reading and
+the wonderful dreams which reading is bound to bring you. Yet even
+school-especially high school the first year-was interesting. The
+more so when there was a teacher like Miss Smith, who looked too
+pretty to know so much about algebra and who was said to get a
+letter every day from a lieutenant-in the Philippines! Then there
+was ancient history, full of things fascinating enough to make up
+for algebra and physics. But even physics becomes suddenly thrilling
+at times. And always literature! Of course "grades" were bothersome,
+and sometimes you hated to show your monthly report to your parents,
+who seemed to set so much store by it; and sometimes you almost
+envied Beulah Crosswhite, who always got an A and who could ask
+questions which disconcerted even the teachers.
+
+Yes, even school was interesting. However, summertime was best,
+although then you must practice your music lesson two hours instead
+of one a day, dust the sitting room, and mind the baby. But you
+could spend long, long hours in the summerhouse, reading poetry out
+of the big Anthology and-this a secret-writing poetry yourself! It
+was heavenly to write poetry. Something soft and warm seemed to ooze
+through your being as you sat out there and watched the sorrow of a
+drab, drab sky; or else, on a bright day, a big shining cloud aloft
+like some silver-gold fairy palace and, down below, the smell of
+warm, new-cut grass, and whispers of little live things everywhere!
+It was then that you felt you'd have died if you couldn't have
+written poetry!
+
+It was on such a lilting day of June, and Melissa's whole being in
+tune with it, that she was called in to the midday dinner-and
+received the invitation.
+
+Father had brought it from the post office and handed it to her with
+exaggerated solemnity. "For Miss Melissa Merriam," he announced.
+
+Yes! there was her name on the tiny envelope.
+
+And, on the tiny card within, written in a painstaking, cramped
+hand:
+
+Mr. Raymond Bonner At Home Wednesday June Tenth R.S.V.P. 8 P.M.
+
+With her whole soul in her mouth, which made it quite impossible to
+speak, she passed the card to her mother and waited. "Oh," said
+mother, "an evening party."
+
+Melissa's soul dropped a trifle: it still clogged her throat, but
+she was able to form words.
+
+"Oh, mother!"
+
+"You KNOW you're not to ask to go to evening parties, Missy."
+Mother's tone was as firm as doom.
+
+Missy turned her eyes to father.
+
+"Don't look at me with those big saucers!" he smiled. "Mother's the
+judge."
+
+So Missy turned her eyes back again. "Mother, PLEASE-"
+
+But mother shook her head. "You're too young to begin such things,
+Missy. I don't know what this town's coming to--mere babies running
+round at night, playing cards and dancing!"
+
+"But, mother--"
+
+"Don't start teasing, Missy. It won't do any good."
+
+So Missy didn't start teasing, but her soul remained choking in her
+throat. It made it difficult for her to swallow, and nothing tasted
+good, though they had lamb chops, which she adored.
+
+"Eat your meat, Missy," adjured mother. Missy tried to obey and felt
+that she was swallowing lumps of lead.
+
+But in the afternoon everything miraculously changed. Kitty Allen
+and her mother came to call. Kitty was her chum, and lived in the
+next block, up the hill. Kitty was beautiful, with long curls which
+showed golden glints in the sun. She had a whim that she and Missy,
+sometimes, should have dresses made exactly alike-for instance, this
+summer, their best dresses of pink dotted mull. Missy tried to enjoy
+the whim with Kitty, but she couldn't help feeling sad at seeing how
+much prettier Kitty could look in the same dress. If only she had
+gold-threaded curls!
+
+During the call the party at the Bonners' was mentioned. Mrs. Allen
+was going to "assist" Mrs. Bonner. She suggested that Missy might
+accompany Kitty and herself.
+
+"I hadn't thought of letting Missy go," said Mrs. Merriam. "She
+seems so young to start going out evenings that way."
+
+"I know just how you feel," replied Mrs. Allen. "I feel just the
+same way. But as long as I've got to assist, I'm willing Kitty
+should go this time; and I thought you mightn't object to Missy's
+going along with us."
+
+"Oh, mother!" Missy's tone was a prayer.
+
+And her mother, smiling toward her a charming, tolerant smile as if
+to say: ."Well, what can one do in the face of those eyes?" finally
+assented.
+
+After that the afternoon went rushing by on wings of joy. When the
+visitors departed Missy had many duties to perform, but they were
+not dull, ordinary duties; they were all tinted over with rainbow
+colours. She stemmed strawberries in the kitchen where Marguerite,
+the hired girl, was putting up fruit, and she loved the pinkish-red
+and grey-green of the berries against the deep yellow of the bowl.
+She loved, too, the colour of the geraniums against the green-
+painted sill just beside her. And the sunlight making leafwork
+brocade on the grass out the window! There were times when
+combinations of colour seemed the most beautiful thing in the world.
+
+Then she had to mind the baby for a while, and she took him out on
+the side lawn and pretended to play croquet with him. The baby
+wasn't quite three, and it was delicious to see him, with mallet and
+ball before a wicket, trying to mimic the actions of his elders.
+Poppylinda, Missy's big black cat, wanted to play too, and succeeded
+in getting between the baby's legs and upsetting him. But the baby
+was under a charm; he only picked himself up and laughed. And Missy
+was sure that black Poppy also laughed.
+
+That night at supper she didn't have much chance to talk to father
+about the big event, for he had brought an old friend home to
+supper. Missy was rather left out of the conversation. She felt glad
+for that; it is hard to talk to old people; it is hard to express to
+them the thoughts and feelings that possess you. Besides, to-night
+she didn't want to talk to anyone, nor to listen. She only wanted to
+sit immersed in that soft, warm, fluttering deliciousness.
+
+Just as the meal was over the hall telephone rang and, at a sign
+from mother, she excused herself to answer it. From outside the door
+she heard father's friend say: "What beautiful eyes!" Could he be
+speaking of her?
+
+The evening, as the afternoon had been, was divine. When Missy was
+getting ready for bed she leaned out of the window to look at the
+night, and the fabric of her soul seemed to stretch out and mingle
+with all that dark, luminous loveliness. It seemed that she herself
+was a part of the silver moon high up there, a part of the white,
+shining radiance which spread down and over leaves and grass
+everywhere. The strong, damp scent of the ramblers on the porch
+seemed to be her own fragrant breath, and the black shadows pointing
+out from the pine trees were her own blots of sadness--sadness vague
+and mysterious, with more of pleasure in it than pain.
+
+She could hardly bear to leave this mysterious, fascinating night;
+to leave off thinking the big, vague thoughts the night always
+called forth; but she had to light the gas and set about the
+business of undressing.
+
+But, first, she paused to gaze at herself in the looking-glass. For
+the millionth time she wished she were pretty like Kitty Allen. And
+Kitty would wear her pink dotted mull to the party. Missy sighed.
+
+Then meditatively she unbraided her long, mouse-coloured braids;
+twisted them into tentative loops over her ears; earnestly studied
+the effect. No; her hair was too straight and heavy. She tried to
+imagine undulating waves across her forehead-if only mother would
+let her use crimpers! Perhaps she would! And then, perhaps, she
+wouldn't look so plain. She wished she were not so plain; the
+longing to be pretty made her fairly ache.
+
+Then slowly the words of that man crept across her memory: "What
+beautiful eyes!" Could he have meant her? She stared at the eyes
+which stared back from the looking-glass till she had the odd
+sensation that they were something quite strange and Allen to her:
+big, dark, deep, and grave eyes, peering out from some unknown
+consciousness. And they were beautiful eyes!
+
+Suddenly she was awakened from her dreams by a voice at the door:
+"Missy, why in the world haven't you gone to bed?"
+
+Missy started and blushed as though discovered in mischief.
+
+"What have you been doing with your hair?"
+
+"Oh, just experimenting. Mother, may I have it crimped for the
+party?"
+
+"I don't know--we'll see. Now hurry and jump into bed."
+
+After mother had kissed her good night and gone, and after the light
+had been turned out, Missy lay awake for a long time.
+
+Through the lace window curtains shone the moonlight, a gleaming
+path along which Missy had often flown out to be a fairy. It is
+quite easy to be a fairy. You lie perfectly still, your arms
+stretched out like wings. Then you fix your eyes on the moonlight
+and imagine you feel your wings stir. And the first thing you know
+you feel yourself being wafted through the window, up through the
+silver-tinged air. You touch the clouds with your magic wand, and
+from them fall shimmering jewels.
+
+Missy was fourteen, going on fifteen, but she could still play being
+a fairy.
+
+But to-night, though the fairy path stretched invitingly to her very
+bed, she did not ride out upon it. She shut her eyes, though she
+felt wide-awake. She shut her eyes so as to see better the pictures
+that came before them.
+
+With her eyes shut she could see herself quite plainly at the party.
+She looked like herself, only much prettier. Yes, and a little
+older, perhaps. Her pink dotted mull was easily recognizable, though
+it had taken on a certain ethereally chic quality--as if a rosy
+cloud had been manipulated by French fingers. Her hair was a soft,
+bright, curling triumph. And when she moved she was graceful as a
+swaying flower stem.
+
+As Missy watched this radiant being which was herself she could see
+that she was as gracious and sweet-mannered as she was beautiful;
+perhaps a bit dignified and reserved, but that is always fitting.
+
+No wonder the other girls and the boys gathered round her,
+captivated. All the boys were eager to dance with her, and when she
+danced she reminded you of a swaying lily. Most often her partner
+was Raymond himself. Raymond danced well too. And he was the
+handsomest boy at his party. He had blonde hair and deep, soft black
+eyes like his father, who was the handsomest as well as the richest
+man in Cherryvale. And he liked her, for last year, their first year
+in high school, he used to study the Latin lesson with her and wait
+for her after school and carry her books home for her. He had done
+that although Kitty Allen was much prettier than she and though
+Beulah Crosswhite was much, much smarter. The other girls had teased
+her about him, and the boys must have teased Raymond, for after a
+while he had stopped walking home with her. She didn't know whether
+she was gladder or sorrier for that. But she knew that she was glad
+he did not ignore that radiant, pink-swathed guest who, in her
+beautiful vision, was having such a glorious time at his party.
+
+Next morning she awoke to find a soft, misty rain greying the world
+outside her window. Missy did not mind that; she loved rainy days--
+they made you feel so pleasantly sad. For a time she lay quiet,
+watching the slant, silvery threads and feeling mysteriously,
+fascinatingly, at peace. Then Poppy, who always slept at the foot of
+her bed, awoke with a tremendous yawning and stretching--exactly the
+kind of "exercises" that young Doc Alison prescribed for father, who
+hated to get up in the mornings!
+
+Then Poppy, her exercises done, majestically trod the coverlet to
+salute her mistress with the accustomed matinal salutation which
+Missy called a kiss. Mother did not approve of Poppy's "kisses," but
+Missy argued to herself that the morning one, dependable as an alarm
+clock, kept her from oversleeping.
+
+She hugged Poppy, jumped out of bed, and began dressing. When she
+got downstairs breakfast was ready and the house all sweetly
+diffused with the dreamy shadows that come with a rainy day.
+
+Father had heard the great news and bantered her: "So we've got a
+society queen in our midst!"
+
+"I think," put in Aunt Nettie, "that it's disgraceful the way they
+put children forward these days."
+
+"I wouldn't let Missy go if Mrs. Allen wasn't going to be there to
+look after her," said mother.
+
+"Mother, may I have the hem of my pink dress let down?" asked Missy.
+
+At that father laughed, and Aunt Nettie might just as well have
+said: "I told you so!" as put on that expression.
+
+"It's my first real party," Missy went on, "and I'd like to look as
+pretty as I can."
+
+Something prompted father, as he rose from the table, to pause and
+lay his hand on Missy's shoulder.
+
+"Can't you get her a new ribbon or something, mother?" he asked.
+
+"Maybe a new sash," answered mother reflectively. "They've got some
+pretty brocaded pink ribbon at Bonner's."
+
+After which Missy finished her breakfast in a rapture. It is queer
+how you can eat, and like what you eat very much, and yet scarcely
+taste it at all.
+
+When the two hours of practicing were over, mother sent her down
+town to buy the ribbon for the sash--a pleasant errand. She changed
+the black tie on her middy blouse to a scarlet one and let the ends
+fly out of her grey waterproof cape. Why is it that red is such a
+divine colour on a rainy day?
+
+Upon her return there was still an hour before dinner, and she sat
+by the dining-room window with Aunt Nettie, to darn stockings.
+
+"Well, Missy," said Aunt Nettie presently, "a penny for your
+thoughts."
+
+Missy looked up vaguely, at a loss. "I wasn't thinking of anything
+exactly," she said.
+
+"What were you smiling about?"
+
+"Was I smiling?"
+
+Just then mother entered and Aunt Nettie said: "Missy smiles, and
+doesn't know it. Party!"
+
+But Missy knew it wasn't the party entirely. Nor was it entirely the
+sound of the rain swishing, nor the look of the trees quietly
+weeping, nor of the vivid red patches of geranium beds. Everything
+could have been quite different, and still she'd have felt happy.
+Her feeling, mysteriously, was as much from things INSIDE her as
+from things outside.
+
+After dinner was over and the baby minded for an hour, mother made
+the pink-brocaded sash. It was very lovely. Then she had an hour to
+herself, and since the rain wouldn't permit her to spend it in the
+summerhouse, she took a book up to her own room. It was a book of
+poems from the Public Library.
+
+The first poem she opened to was one of the most marvellous things
+she had ever read--almost as wonderful as "The Blessed Damozel." She
+was glad she had chanced upon it on a rainy day, and when she felt
+like this. It was called "A Birthday," and it went:
+
+My heart is like a singing bird Whose nest is in a watered shoot; My
+heart is like an apple tree Whose boughs are bent with thickset
+fruit; My heart is like a rainbow shell That paddles in a halcyon
+sea; My heart is gladder than all these, Because my love is come to
+me.
+
+Raise me a dais of silk and down; Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
+Carve it with doves and pomegranates, And peacocks with a hundred
+eyes; Work in it gold and silver grapes, In leaves and silver
+fleurs-de-lys, Because the birthday of my life Is come; my love is
+come to me.
+
+The poem expressed beautifully what she might have answered when
+Aunt Nettie asked why she smiled. Only, even though she herself
+could have expressed it so beautifully then, it was not the kind of
+answer you'd dream of making to Aunt Nettie.
+
+Thp next morning Missy awoke to find the rain gone and warm, golden
+sunshine filtering through the lace curtains. She dressed herself
+quickly, while the sunshine smiled and watched her toilet. After
+breakfast, at the piano, her fingers found the scales tiresome. Of
+themselves they wandered off into unexpected rhythms which seemed to
+sing aloud: Work it in gold and silver grapes, In leaves and silver
+fieurs-de-lys . . . Raise me a dais of silk and down; Hang it with
+vair and purple dyes . . .
+
+She was idly wondering what a "vair" might be when her dreams were
+crashed into by mother's reproving voice: "Missy, what are you
+doing? If you don't get right down to practicing, there'll be no
+more parties!"
+
+Abashed, Missy made her fingers behave, but not her heart. It was
+singing a tune far out of harmony with chromatic exercises, and she
+was glad her mother could not hear.
+
+The tune kept right on throughout dinner. During the meal she was
+called to the telephone, and at the other end was Raymond; he wanted
+her to save him the first dance that evening. What rapture--this was
+what happened to the beautiful belles you read about!
+
+After dinner mother and Aunt Nettie went to call upon some ladies
+they hoped wouldn't be at home--what funny things grown-ups do! The
+baby was taking his nap, and Missy had a delicious long time ahead
+in which to be utterly alone.
+
+She took the library book of poems and a book of her father's out to
+the summerhouse. First she opened the book of her father's. It was a
+translation of a Russian book, very deep and moving and sad and
+incomprehensible. A perfectly fascinating book! It always filled her
+with vague, undefinable emotions. She read: "O youth, youth! Thou
+carest for nothing: thou possessest, as it were, all the treasures
+of the universe; even sorrow comforts thee, even melancholy becomes
+thee; thou art self-confident and audacious; thou sayest: 'I alone
+live--behold!' But the days speed on and vanish without a trace and
+without reckoning, and everything vanishes in thee, like wax in the
+sun, like snow. . ."
+
+Missy felt sublime sadness resounding through her soul. It was
+intolerable that days should speed by irrevocably and vanish, like
+wax in the sun, like snow. She sighed. But even as she sighed the
+feeling of sadness began to slip away. So she turned to the poem
+discovered last night, and read it over happily.
+
+The title, "A Birthday," made her feel that Raymond Bonner was
+somehow connected with it. This was his birthday--and that brought
+her thoughts back definitely to the party. Mother had said that
+presents were not expected, that they were getting too big to
+exchange little presents, yet she would have liked to carry him some
+little token. The ramblers and honeysuckle above her head sniffed at
+her in fragrant suggestion--why couldn't she just take him some
+flowers?
+
+Acting on the impulse, Missy jumped up and began breaking off the
+loveliest blooms. But after she had gathered a big bunch a swift
+wave of self-consciousness swept over her. What would they say at
+the house? Would they let her take them? Would they understand? And
+a strong distaste for their inevitable questions, for the
+explanations which she could not explain definitely even to herself,
+prompted her not to carry the bouquet to the house. Instead she ran,
+got a pitcher of water, carried it back to the summerhouse and left
+the flowers temporarily there, hoping to figure out ways and means
+later.
+
+At the house she discovered that the baby was awake, so she had to
+hurry back to take care of him. She always loved to do that; she
+didn't mind that a desire to dress up in her party attire had just
+struck her, for the baby always entered into the spirit of her
+performances. While she was fastening up the pink dotted mull, Poppy
+walked inquisitively in and sat down to oversee this special,
+important event. Missy succeeded with the greatest difficulty in
+adjusting the brocaded sash to her satisfaction. She regretted her
+unwaved hair, but mother was going to crimp it herself in the
+evening. The straight, everyday coiffure marred the picture in the
+mirror, yet, aided by her imagination, it was pleasing. She stood
+with arms extended in a languid, graceful pose, her head thrown
+back, gazing with half-closed eyes at something far, far beyond her
+own eyes in the glass.
+
+Then suddenly she began to dance. She danced with her feet, her
+arms, her hands, her soul. She felt within her the grace of stately
+beauties, the heartbeat of dew-jewelled fairies, the longings of
+untrammelled butterflies--dancing, she could have flown up to heaven
+at that moment! A gurgle of sound interrupted her; it was the baby.
+"Do you like me, baby?" she cried. "Am I beautiful, baby?"
+
+Baby, now, could talk quite presentably in the language of grown-
+ups. But in addition he knew all kinds of wise, unintelligible
+words. Missy knew that they were wise, even though she could not
+understand their meaning, and she was glad the baby chose, this
+time, to answer in that secret jargon.
+
+She kissed the baby and, in return, the baby smiled his secret
+smile. Missy was sure that Poppy then smiled too, a secret smile; so
+she kissed Poppy also. How wonderful, how mysterious, were the
+smiles of baby and Poppy! What unknown thoughts produced them?
+
+At this point her cogitations were interrupted and her playacting
+spoiled by the unexpected return of mother and Aunt Nettie. It
+seemed that certain of the ladies had obligingly been "out."
+
+"What in the world are you doing, Missy?" asked mother.
+
+Missy suddenly felt herself a very foolish-appearing object in her
+party finery. She tried to make an answer, but the right words were
+difficult to find.
+
+"Party!" said Aunt Nettie significantly.
+
+Missy, still standing in mute embarrassment, couldn't have explained
+how it was not the party entirely.
+
+Mother did not scold her for dressing up.
+
+"Better get those things off, dear," she said kindly, "and come in
+and let me curl your hair. I'd better do it before supper, before
+the baby gets cross." The crimped coiffure was an immense success;
+even in her middy blouse Missy felt transformed. She could have
+kissed herself in the glass!
+
+"Do you think I look pretty, mother?" she asked. "You mustn't think
+of such things, dear." But, as mother stooped to readjust a waving
+lock, her fingers felt marvellously tender to Missy's forehead.
+
+Evening arrived with a sunset of grandeur and glory. It made
+everything look as beautiful as it should look on the occasion of a
+festival. The beautiful and festive aspect of the world without, and
+of, her heart within, made it difficult to eat supper. And after
+supper it was hard to breathe naturally, to control her nervous
+fingers as she dressed.
+
+At last, with the help of mother and Aunt Nettie, her toilet was
+finished: the pink-silk stockings and slippers shimmering beneath
+the lengthened pink mull; the brocaded pink ribbon now become a
+huge, pink-winged butterfly; and, mother's last touch, a pink
+rosebud holding a tendril--a curling tendril--artfully above the
+left ear! Missy felt a stranger to herself as, like some gracious
+belle and fairy princess and airy butterfly all compounded into one,
+she walked--no, floated down the stairs.
+
+"Well!" exclaimed father, "behold the Queen of the Ball!" But Missy
+did not mind his bantering tone. The expression of his eyes told her
+that he thought she looked pretty.
+
+Presently Mrs. Allen and Kitty, in the Allens' surrey, stopped by
+for her. With them was a boy she had never seen before, a tall, dark
+boy in a blue-grey braided coat and white duck trousers--a military
+cadet!
+
+He was introduced as Kitty's cousin, Jim Henley. Missy had heard
+about this Cousin Jim who was going to visit Cherryvale some time
+during the summer; he had arrived rather unexpectedly that day.
+
+Kitty herself--in pink dotted mull, of course--was looking rather
+wan. Mrs. Allen explained she had eaten too much of the candy Cousin
+Jim had brought her.
+
+Cousin Jim, with creaking new shoes, leaped down to help Missy in.
+She had received her mother's last admonition, her father's last
+banter, Aunt Nettie's last anxious peck at her sash, and was just
+lifting her foot to the surrey step when suddenly she said: "Oh!"
+
+"What is it?" asked mother. "Forgotten something?"
+
+Missy had forgotten something. But how, with mother's inquiring eyes
+upon her, and father's and Aunt Nettie's and Mrs. Allen's and
+Kitty's and Cousin Jim's inquiring eyes upon her, could she mention
+Raymond's bouquet in the summerhouse? How could she get them? What
+should she say? And what would they think? "No," she answered
+hesitantly. "I guess not." But the bright shining of her pleasure
+was a little dimmed. She could not forget those flowers waiting,
+waiting there in the summerhouse. She worried more about them, so
+pitifully abandoned, than she did about Raymond's having to go
+without a remembrance.
+
+Missy sat in the back seat with Mrs. Allen, Kitty in front with her
+cousin. Now and then he threw a remark over his shoulder, and
+smiled. He had beautiful white teeth which gleamed out of his dark-
+skinned face, and he seemed very nice. But he wasn't as handsome as
+Raymond, nor as nice--even if he did wear a uniform.
+
+When they reached the Bonners they saw it all illumined for the
+party. The Bonners' house was big and square with a porch running
+round three sides, the most imposing house in Cherryvale. Already
+strings of lanterns were lighted on the lawn, blue and red and
+yellow orbs. The lights made the trees and shrubs seem shadowy and
+remote, mysterious creatures awhisper over their own business.
+
+Not yet had many guests arrived, but almost immediately they
+appeared in such droves that it seemed they must have come up
+miraculously through the floor. The folding camp chairs which lined
+the parlours and porches (the rented chairs always seen at
+Cherryvale parties and funerals) were one moment starkly exposed and
+the next moment hidden by light-hued skirts and by stiffly held,
+Sunday-trousered dark legs. For a while that stiffness which
+inevitably introduces a formal gathering of youngsters held them
+unnaturally bound. But just as inevitably it wore away, and by the
+time the folding chairs were drawn up round the little table where
+"hearts" were to be played, voices were babbling, and laughter was
+to be heard everywhere for no reason at all.
+
+At Missy's table sat Raymond Bonner, looking handsomer than ever
+with his golden hair and his eyes like black velvet pansies. There
+was another boy who didn't count; and then there was the most
+striking creature Missy had ever seen. She was a city girl visiting
+in town, an older, tall, red-haired girl, with languishing, long-
+lashed eyes. She wore a red chiffon dress, lower cut than was worn
+in Cherryvale, which looked like a picture in a fashion magazine.
+But it was not her chic alone that made her so striking. It was her
+manner. Missy was, not sure that she knew what "sophisticated"
+meant, but she decided that the visiting girl's air of self-
+possession, of calm, almost superior assurance, denoted
+sophistication. How eloquent was that languid way of using her fan!
+
+In this languishing-eyed presence she herself did not feel at her
+best; nor was she made happier by the way Raymond couldn't keep his
+eyes off the visitor. She played her hand badly, so that Raymond and
+his alluring partner "progressed" to the higher table while she
+remained with the boy who didn't count. But, as luck would have it,
+to take the empty places, from the head table, vanquished, came
+Cousin Jim and his partner. Jim now played opposite her, and laughed
+over his "dumbness" at the game.
+
+"I feel sorry for you!" he told Missy. "I'm a regular dub at this
+game!"
+
+"I guess I'm a 'dub' too." It was impossible not to smile back at
+that engaging flash of white teeth in the dark face.
+
+This time, however, neither of them proved "dubs." Together they
+"progressed" to the next higher table. Cousin Jim assured her it was
+all due to her skill. She almost thought that, perhaps, she was
+skillful at "hearts," and for the first time she liked the silly
+game.
+
+Eventually came time for the prizes--and then dancing. Dancing Missy
+liked tremendously. Raymond claimed her for the first waltz. Missy
+wondered, a little wistfully, whether now he mightn't be regretting
+that pre-engagement, whether he wouldn't rather dance it with the
+languishing-eyed girl he was following about.
+
+But as soon as the violin and piano, back near the library window,
+began to play, Raymond came straight to Missy and made his charming
+bow. They danced through the two parlours and then out to the porch
+and round its full length; the music carried beautifully through the
+open windows; it was heavenly dancing outdoors like that. Too soon
+it was over.
+
+"Will you excuse me?" Raymond asked in his polite way. "Mother wants
+to see me about something. I hate to run away, but--"
+
+Scarcely had he gone when Mrs. Allen, with Jim in tow, came hurrying
+up.
+
+"Oh, Missy! I've been looking for you everywhere. Kitty's awfully
+sick. She was helping with the refreshments and got hold of some
+pickles. And on top of all that candy--"
+
+"Oh!" commiserated Missy.
+
+"I've got to get her home at once," Mrs. Allen went on. "I hate to
+take you away just when your good time's beginning, but--"
+
+"Why does she have to go?" Jim broke in. "I can take you and Kitty
+home, and then come back, and take her home after the party's over."
+He gave a little laugh. "You see that gives me an excuse to see the
+party through myself!"
+
+Mrs. Allen eyed Missy a little dubiously.
+
+"Oh, Mrs. Allen, couldn't I?"
+
+"I don't know--I said I'd bring you home myself."
+
+"Oh, Mrs. Allen! Please!" Missy's eyes pleaded even more than her
+voice.
+
+"Well, I don't see why not," decided Kitty's mother, anxious to
+return to her own daughter. "Jim will take good care of you, and
+Mrs. Bonner will send you all home early."
+
+When Mrs. Allen, accompanied by her nephew, had hurried away, Missy
+had an impulse to wander alone, for a moment, out into the
+deliciously alluring night. She loved the night always, but just now
+it looked indescribably beautiful. The grounds were deserted, but
+the lanterns, quivering in the breeze, seemed to be huge live glow-
+worms suspended up there in the dark. It was enchantment. Stepping
+lightly, holding her breath, sniffing at unseen scents, hearing
+laughter and dance music from far away as if in another world, she
+penetrated farther and farther into the shadows. An orange-coloured
+moon was pushing its way over the horizon, so close she could surely
+reach out her hands and touch it!
+
+And then, too near to belong to any other world, and quite
+distinctly, she heard a voice beyond the rose arbour:
+
+"Oh, yes! Words sound well! But the fact remains you didn't ask me
+for the first dance."
+
+Missy knew that drawling yet strangely assured voice. Almost, with
+its tones, she could see the languorously uplifted eyes, the
+provoking little gesture of fan at lips. Before she could move,
+whether to advance or to flee, Raymond replied:
+
+"I wanted to ask you--you know I wanted to ask you!"
+
+"Oh, yes, you did!" replied the visiting girl ironically.
+
+"I did!" protested Raymond.
+
+"Well, why didn't you then?"
+
+"I'd already asked somebody else. I couldn't!"
+
+And then the visiting girl laughed strangely. Missy knew she knew
+with whom Raymond had danced that first dance. Why did she laugh?
+And Raymond--oh, oh! She had seemed to grow rooted to the ground,
+unable to get away; her heart, her breathing, seemed to petrify too;
+they hurt her. Why had Raymond danced with her if he didn't want to?
+And why, why did that girl laugh? She suddenly felt that she must
+let them know that she heard them, that she must ask why! And, in
+order not to exclaim the question against her will, she covered her
+mouth with both hands, and crept silently away from the rose arbour.
+
+Without any definite purpose, borne along by an inner whirlwind of
+suppressed sobs and utter despair, Missy finally found herself
+nearer the entrance gate, Fortunately there was nobody to see her;
+everyone--except those two--was back up there in the glare and
+noise, laughing and dancing. Laughing and dancing--oh, oh! What ages
+ago it seemed when she too had laughed and danced!
+
+Oh, why hadn't she gone home with Mrs. Allen and Kitty before her
+silly pleasure had turned to anguish? But, of course, that was what
+life was: pain crowding elbows with pleasure always--she had read
+that somewhere. She was just inevitably living Life.
+
+Consoled a trifle by this reflection and by a certain note of
+sublimity in her experience, Missy leaned against the gatepost upon
+which a lantern was blinking its last shred of life, and gazed at
+the slow-rising, splendid moon.
+
+She was still there when Cousin Jim, walking quickly and his shoes
+creaking loudly, returned. "Hello!" he said. "What're you doing out
+here?"
+
+"Oh, just watching the moon."
+
+"You're a funny girl," he laughed.
+
+"Why am I funny?" Her tone was a little wistful. "Why, moon-gazing
+instead of dancing, and everything."
+
+"But I like to dance too," emphasized Missy, as if to defend herself
+against a charge.
+
+"I'll take you up on that. Come straight in and dance the next dance
+with me!"
+
+Missy obeyed. And then she knew that she had met the Dancer of the
+World. At first she was pleased that her steps fitted his so well,
+and then she forgot all about steps and just floated along, on
+invisible gauzy wings, unconscious of her will of direction, of his
+will of direction. There was nothing in the world but invisible
+gauzy wings, which were herself and Jim and the music. And they were
+a part of the music and the music was a part of them. It was divine.
+
+"Say, you can dance!" said Jim admiringly when the music stopped.
+
+"I love to dance."
+
+"I should say you might! You dance better than any girl I ever
+danced with!"
+
+This, from a military uniform, was praise indeed. Missy blushed and
+was moved to hide her exaltation under modesty.
+
+"I guess the reason is because I love it so much. I feel as if it's
+the music dancing--not me. Do you feel it that way?" "Never thought
+of it that way," answered Jim. "But I don't know but what you're
+right. Say, you ARE a funny girl, aren't you?"
+
+But Missy knew that whatever he meant by her being a "funny girl" he
+didn't dislike her for it, because he rushed on: "You must let me
+have a lot of dances--every one you can spare."
+
+After that everything was rapture. All the boys liked to dance with
+Missy because she was such a good dancer, and Jim kept wanting to
+cut in to get an extra dance with her himself. Somehow even the
+sting of the visiting girl's laugh and of Raymond's defection seemed
+to have subsided into triviality. And when Raymond came up to ask
+for a dance she experienced a new and pleasurable thrill in telling
+him she was already engaged. That thrill disturbed her a little. Was
+it possible that she was vindictive, wicked? But when she saw Jim
+approaching while Raymond was receiving his conge, she thrilled
+again, simultaneously wondering whether she was, after all, but a
+heartless coquette.
+
+Jim had just been dancing with the visiting girl, so she asked: "Is
+Miss Slade a good dancer?"
+
+"Oh, fair. Not in it with you though."
+
+Missy thrilled again, and felt wicked again--alas, how pleasant is
+wickedness! "She's awfully pretty," vouchsafed Missy.
+
+"Oh, I guess so"--indifferently.
+
+Yet another thrill.
+
+They took refreshments together, Jim going to get her a second glass
+of lemonade and waiting upon her with devotion. Then came the time
+to go home. Missy could not hold back a certain sense of triumph as,
+after thanking Raymond for a glorious time, she started off, under
+his inquisitive eye, arm in arm with Jim.
+
+That unwonted arm-in-arm business confused Missy a good deal. She
+had an idea it was the proper thing when one is being escorted home,
+and had put her arm in his as a matter of course, but before they
+had reached the gate she was acutely conscious of the touch of her
+arm on his. To make matters worse, a curious wave of embarrassment
+was creeping over her; she couldn't think of anything to say, and
+they had walked nearly a block down moon-flooded Silver Street, with
+no sound but Jim's creaking shoes, before she got out: "How do you
+like Cherry vale, Mr. Henley?"
+
+"Looks good to me," he responded.
+
+Then silence again, save for Jim's shoes. Missy racked her brains.
+What do you say to boys who don't know the same people and affairs
+you do? Back there at the party things had gone easily, but they
+were playing cards or dancing or eating; there had been no need for
+tete-a-tete conversation. How do you talk to people you don't know?
+
+She liked Jim, but the need to make talk was spoiling everything.
+She moved along beside his creaking shoes as in a nightmare, and, as
+she felt every atom of her freezing to stupidity, she desperately
+forced her voice: "What a beautiful night it is!"
+
+"Yes, it's great."
+
+Missy sent him a sidelong glance. He didn't look exactly happy
+either. Did he feel awkward too?
+
+Creak! creak! creak! said the shoes.
+
+"Listen to those shoes--never heard 'em squeak like that before," he
+muttered apologetically.
+
+Missy, striving for a proper answer and finding none, kept on moving
+through that feeling of nightmare. What was the matter with her
+tongue, her brain? Was it because she didn't know Jim well enough to
+talk to him? Surely not, for she had met strange boys before and not
+felt like this. Was it because it was night? Did you always feel
+like this when you were all dressed up and going home from an
+evening party?
+
+Creak! creak! said the shoes.
+
+Another block lay behind them.
+
+Missy, fighting that sensation of stupidity, in anguished resolution
+spoke again: "Just look at the moon--how big it is!" Jim followed
+her upward glance. "Yes, it's great," he agreed.
+
+Creak! creak! said the shoes.
+
+A heavy, regularly punctuated pause. "Don't you love moonlight
+nights?" persisted Missy.
+
+"Yes--when my shoes don't squeak." He tried to laugh.
+
+Missy tried to laugh too. Creak! creak! said the shoes.
+
+Another block lay behind them.
+
+"Moonlight always makes me feel--"
+
+She paused. What was it moonlight always made her feel? Hardly
+hearing what she was saying, she made herself reiterate banalities
+about the moon. Her mind flew upward to the moon--Jim's downward to
+his squeaking shoes. She lived at the other end of town from Raymond
+Bonner's house, and the long walk was made up of endless
+intermittent perorations on the moon, on squeaking shoes. But the
+song of the shoes never ceased. Louder and louder it waxed. It
+crashed into the innermost fibres of her frame, completely deafened
+her mental processes. Never would she forget it: creak-creak-creak-
+creak!
+
+And the moon, usually so kind and gentle, grinned down derisively.
+
+At last, after eons, they reached the corner of her own yard. How
+unchanged, how natural everything looked here! Over there, across
+the stretch of white moonlight, sat the summerhouse, symbol of peace
+and every day, cloaked in its fragrant ramblers.
+
+Ramblers! A sudden remembrance darted through Missy's perturbed
+brain. Her poor flowers--were they still out there? She must carry
+them into the house with her! On the impulse, without pausing to
+reflect that her action might look queer, she exclaimed: "Wait a
+minute!" and ran fleetly across the moonlit yard. In a second she
+had the bouquet out of the pitcher and was back again beside him,
+breathless.
+
+"I left them out there," she said. "I--I forgot them. And I didn't
+want to leave them out there all night."
+
+Jim bent down and sniffed at the roses. "They smell awfully sweet,
+don't they?" he said.
+
+Suddenly, without premeditation, Missy extended them to him. "You
+may have them," she offered.
+
+"I?" He received them awkwardly. "That's awfully sweet of you. Say,
+you are sweet, aren't you?"
+
+"You may have them if you want them," she repeated.
+
+Jim, still holding the bunch awkwardly, had an inspiration.
+
+"I do want them. And now, if they're really mine, I want to do with
+them what I'd like most to do with them. May I?"
+
+"Why, of course."
+
+"I'd like to give them to the girl who ought to have flowers more
+than any girl I know. I'd like to give them to you!"
+
+He smiled at her daringly.
+
+"Oh!" breathed Missy. How poetical he was!
+
+"But," he stipulated, "on one condition. I demand one rose for
+myself. And you must put it in my buttonhole for me."
+
+With trembling fingers Missy fixed the rose in place.
+
+They walked on up to the gate. Jim said: "In our school town the
+girls are all crazy for brass buttons. They make hatpins and things.
+If you'd like a button, I'd like to give you one--off my sleeve."
+
+"Wouldn't it spoil your sleeve?" she asked tremulously.
+
+"Oh, I can get more"--somewhat airily. "Of course we have to do
+extra guard mount and things for punishment. But that's part of the
+game, and no fellow minds if he's giving buttons to somebody he
+likes."
+
+Missy wasn't exactly sure she knew what "subtle" meant, but she felt
+that Jim was being subtle. Oh, the romance of it! To give her a
+brass button he was willing to suffer punishment. He was like a
+knight of old!
+
+As Jim was severing the button with his penknife, Missy, chancing to
+glance upward, noted that the curtain of an upstairs window was
+being held back by an invisible hand. That was her mother's window.
+
+"I must go in now," she said hurriedly. "Mother's waiting up for
+me."
+
+"Well I guess I'll see you soon. You're up at Kitty's a lot, aren't
+you?"
+
+"Yes," she murmured, one eye on the upstairs window. So many things
+she had to say now. A little while ago she hadn't been able to talk.
+Now, for no apparent reason, there was much to say, yet no time to
+say it. How queer Life was!
+
+"To-morrow, I expect," she hurried on. "Good night, Mr. Henley."
+"Good night--Missy." With his daring, gleaming smile.
+
+Inside the hall door, mother, wrapper-clad, met her disapprovingly.
+"Missy, where in the world did you get all those flowers?"
+
+"Ji--Kitty's cousin gave them to me."
+
+"For the land's sake!" It required a moment for mother to find
+further words. Then she continued accusingly: "I thought you were to
+come home with Mrs. Allen and Kitty."
+
+"Kitty got sick, and her mother had to take her home."
+
+"Why didn't you come with them?"
+
+"Oh, mother! I was having such a good time!" For the minute Missy
+had forgotten there had been a shred of anything but "good time" in
+the whole glorious evening. "And Mrs. Allen said I might stay and
+come home with Jim and--"
+
+"That will do," cut in mother severely. "You've taken advantage of
+me, Missy. And don't let me hear evening party from you again this
+summer!"
+
+The import of this dreadful dictum did not penetrate fully to
+Missy's consciousness. She was too confused in her emotions, just
+then, to think clearly of anything.
+
+"Go up to bed," said mother.
+
+"May I put my flowers in water first?"
+
+"Yes, but be quick about it."
+
+Missy would have liked to carry the flowers up to her own room, to
+sleep there beside her while she slept, but mother wouldn't
+understand and there would be questions which she didn't know how to
+answer.
+
+Mother was offended with her. Dimly she felt unhappy about that, but
+she was too happy to be definitely unhappy. Anyway, mother followed
+to unfasten her dress, to help take down her hair, to plait the
+mouse-coloured braids. She wanted to be alone, yet she liked the
+touch of mother's hands, unusually gentle and tender. Why was mother
+gentle and tender with her when she was offended?
+
+At last mother kissed her good night, and she was alone in her
+little bed. It was hard to get to sleep. What an eventful party it
+had been! Since supper time she seemed to have lived years and
+years. She had been a success even though Raymond Bonner had said--
+that. Anyway, Jim was a better dancer than Raymond, and handsomer
+and nicer--besides the uniform. He was more poetical too--much more.
+What was it he had said about liking her? . . . better dancer than
+any other. . . Funny she should feel so happy after Raymond . . .
+Maybe she was just a vain, inconstant, coquettish . . .
+
+She strove to focus on the possibility of her frailty. She turned
+her face to the window. Through the lace curtains shone the
+moonlight, the gleaming path along which she had so often flown out
+to be a fairy. But to-night she didn't wish to be a fairy; just to
+be herself . . .
+
+The moonlight flowed in and engulfed her, a great, eternal, golden-
+white mystery. And its mystery became her mystery. She was the
+mystery of the moon, of the universe, of Life. And the tune in her
+heart, which could take on so many bewildering variations, became
+the Chant of Mystery. How interesting, how tremendously, ineffably
+interesting was Life! She slept.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+MISSY TACKLES ROMANCE
+
+
+Melissa was out in the summerhouse, reading; now and then lifting
+her eyes from the big book on her lap to watch the baby at play.
+With a pail of sand, a broken lead-pencil and several bits of twig,
+the baby had concocted an engrossing game. Melissa smiled
+indulgently at his absurd absorption; while the baby, looking up,
+smiled back as one who would say: "What a stupid game reading is to
+waste your time with!"
+
+For the standpoint of three-years-old is quite different from that
+of fourteen-going-on-fifteen. Missy now felt almost grown-up; it had
+been eons since SHE was a baby, and three; even thirteen lay back
+across a chasm so wide her thoughts rarely tried to bridge it.
+Besides, her thoughts were kept too busy with the present. Every day
+the world was presenting itself as a more bewitching place.
+Cherryvale had always been a thrilling place to live in; but this
+was the summer which, surely, would ever stand out in italics in her
+mind. For, this summer, she had come really to know Romance.
+
+Her more intimate acquaintance with this enchanting phenomenon had
+begun in May, the last month of school, when she learned that Miss
+Smith, her Algebra teacher, received a letter every day from an army
+officer. An army officer!--and a letter every day! And she knew Miss
+Smith very well, indeed! Ecstasy! Miss Smith, who looked too pretty
+to know so much about Algebra, made an adorable heroine of Romance.
+
+But she was not more adorable-looking than Aunt Isabel. Aunt Isabel
+was Uncle Charlie's wife, and lived in Pleasanton; Missy was going
+to Pleasanton in just three days, now, and every time she thought of
+the visit, she felt delicious little tremors of anticipation. What
+an experience that would be! For father and mother and grandpa and
+grandma and all the other family grown-ups admitted that Uncle
+Charlie's marriage to Aunt Isabel was romantic. Uncle Charlie had
+been forty-three--very, very old, even older than father--and a
+"confirmed bachelor" when, a year ago last summer, he had married
+Aunt Isabel. Aunt Isabel was much younger, only twenty; that was
+what made the marriage romantic.
+
+Like Miss Smith, Aunt Isabel had big violet eyes and curly golden
+hair. Most heroines seemed to be like that. The reflection saddened
+Missy. Her own eyes were grey instead of violet, her hair straight
+and mouse-coloured instead of wavy and golden.
+
+Even La Beale Isoud was a blonde, and La Beale Isoud, as she had
+recently discovered, was one of the Romantic Queens of all time. She
+knew this fact on the authority of grandpa, who was enormously wise.
+Grandpa said that the beauteous lady was a heroine in all languages,
+and her name was spelled Iseult, and Yseult, and Isolde, and other
+queer ways; but in "The Romance of King Arthur" it was spelled La
+Beale Isoud. "The Romance of King Arthur" was a fascinating book,
+and Missy was amazed that, up to this very summer, she had passed by
+the rather ponderous volume, which was kept on the top shelf of the
+"secretary," as uninteresting-looking. Uninteresting!
+
+It was "The Romance of King Arthur" that, this July afternoon, lay
+open on Missy's lap while she minded the baby in the summerhouse.
+Already she knew by heart its "deep" and complicated story, and,
+now, she was re-reading the part which told of Sir Tristram de
+Liones and his ill-fated love for La Beale Isoud. It was all very
+sad, yet very beautiful.
+
+Sir Tristram was a "worshipful knight" and a "harper passing all
+other." He got wounded, and his uncle, King Mark, "let purvey a fair
+vessel, well victualled," and sent him to Ireland to be healed.
+There the Irish King's daughter, La Beale Isoud, "the fairest maid
+and lady in the world," nursed him back to health, while Sir
+Tristram "learned her to harp."
+
+That last was an odd expression. In Cherryvale it would be
+considered bad grammar; but, evidently, grammar rules were different
+in olden times. The unusual phraseology of the whole narrative
+fascinated Missy; even when you could hardly understand it, it was--
+inspiring. Yes, that was the word. In inspiring! That was because it
+was the true language of Romance. The language of Love . . . Missy's
+thoughts drifted off to ponder the kind of language the army officer
+used to Miss Smith; Uncle Charlie to Aunt Isabel . . .
+
+She came back to the tale of La Beale Isoud.
+
+Alas! true love must ever suffer at the hands of might. For the
+harper's uncle, old King Mark himself, decided to marry La Beale
+Isoud; and he ordered poor Sir Tristram personally to escort her
+from Ireland. And Isoud's mother entrusted to two servants a magical
+drink which they should give Isoud and King Mark on their wedding-
+day, so that the married pair "either should love the other the days
+of their life."
+
+But, Tristram and La Beale Isoud found that love-drink! Breathing
+quickly, Missy read the fateful part:
+
+"It happened so that they were thirsty, and it seemed by the colour
+and the taste that it was a noble wine. When Sir Tristram took the
+flasket in his hand, and said, 'Madam Isoud, here is the best drink
+that ever ye drunk, that Dame Braguaine, your maiden, and
+Gouvernail, my servant, have kept for themselves.' Then they laughed
+(laughed--think of it!) and made good cheer, and either drank to
+other freely. And they thought never drink that ever they drank was
+so sweet nor so good. But by that drink was in their bodies, they
+loved either other so well that never their love departed for weal
+neither for woe." (Think of that, too!)
+
+Missy gazed at the accompanying illustration: La Beale Isoud
+slenderly tall in her straight girdled gown of grey-green velvet,
+head thrown back so that her filleted golden hair brushed her
+shoulders, violet eyes half-closed, and an "antique"-looking metal
+goblet clasped in her two slim hands; and Sir Tristram so
+imperiously dark and handsome in his crimson, fur-trimmed doublet,
+his two hands stretched out and gripping her two shoulders, his
+black eyes burning as if to look through her closed lids. What a
+tremendous situation! Love that never would depart for weal neither
+for woe!
+
+Missy sighed. For she had read and re-read what was the fullness of
+their woe. And she couldn't help hating King Mark, even if he was
+Isoud's lawful lord, because he proved himself such a recreant and
+false traitor to true love. Of course, he WAS Isoud's husband; and
+Missy lived in Cherryvale, where conventions were not complicated
+and were strictly adhered to; else scandal was the result. But she
+told herself that this situation was different because it was an
+unusual kind of love. They couldn't help themselves. It wasn't their
+fault. It was the love-drink that did it. Besides, it happened in
+the Middle Ages . . .
+
+Suddenly her reverie was blasted by a compelling disaster. The baby,
+left to his own devices, had stuck a twig into his eye, and was
+uttering loud cries for attention. Missy remorsefully hurried over
+and kissed his hurt. As if healed thereby, the baby abruptly ceased
+crying; even sent her a little wavering smile. Missy gazed at him
+and pondered: why do babies cry over their tiny troubles, and so
+often laugh over their bigger ones? She felt an immense yearning
+over babies--over all things inexplicable.
+
+That evening after supper, grandpa and grandma came over for a
+little while. They all sat out on the porch and chatted. It was very
+beautiful out on the porch,--greying twilight, and young little
+stars just coming into being, all aquiver as if frightened.
+
+The talk turned to Missy's imminent visit.
+
+"Aren't you afraid you'll get homesick?" asked grandma.
+
+It was Missy's first visit away from Cherryvale without her mother.
+A year ago she would have dreaded the separation, but now she was
+almost grown-up. Besides, this very summer, in Cherryvale, she had
+seen how for some reason, a visiting girl seems to excite more
+attention than does a mere home girl. Missy realized that, of
+course, she wasn't so "fashionable" as was the sophisticated Miss
+Slade from Macon City who had so agitated Cherryvale, yet she was
+pleased to try the experience for herself. Moreover, the visit was
+to be at Uncle Charlie's!
+
+"Oh, no," answered Missy. "Not with Uncle Charlie and Aunt Isabel.
+She's so pretty and wears such pretty clothes--remember that grey
+silk dress with grey-topped shoes exactly to match?"
+
+"I think she has shoes to match everything, even her wrappers," said
+grandma rather drily. "Isabel's very extravagant."
+
+"Extravagance becomes a virtue when Isabel wears the clothes,"
+commented grandpa. Grandpa often said "deep" things like that, which
+were hard to understand exactly.
+
+"She shouldn't squander Charlie's money," insisted grandma.
+
+"Charlie doesn't seem to mind it," put in mother in her gentle way.
+"He's as pleased as Punch buying her pretty things."
+
+"Yes--poor Charlie!" agreed grandma. "And there's another thing:
+Isabel's always been used to so much attention, I hope she won't
+give poor Charlie anxiety."
+
+Why did grandma keep calling him "poor" Charlie? Missy had always
+understood that Uncle Charlie wasn't poor at all; he owned the
+biggest "general store" in Pleasanton and was, in fact, the "best-
+fixed" of the whole Merriam family.
+
+But, save for fragments, she soon lost the drift of the family
+discussion. She was absorbed in her own trend of thoughts. At Uncle
+Charlie's she was sure of encountering Romance. Living-and-breathing
+Romance. And only two days more! How could she wait?
+
+But the two days flew by in a flurry of mending, and running
+ribbons, and polishing all her shoes and wearing old dresses to keep
+her good ones clean, and, finally, packing. It was all so exciting
+that only at the last minute just before the trunk was shut, did she
+remember to tuck in "The Romance of King Arthur."
+
+At the depot in Pleasanton, Aunt Isabel alone met her; Uncle Charlie
+was "indisposed." Missy was sorry to hear that. For she had liked
+Uncle Charlie even before he had become Romantic. He was big and
+silent like father and grandpa and you had a feeling that, like
+them, he understood you more than did most grown-ups.
+
+She liked Aunt Isabel, too; she couldn't have helped that, because
+Aunt Isabel was so radiantly beautiful. Missy loved all beautiful
+things. She loved the heavenly colour of sunlight through the
+stained-glass windows at church; the unquenchable blaze of her
+nasturtium bed under a blanket of grey mist; the corner street-lamp
+reflecting on the wet sidewalk; the smell of clean, sweet linen
+sheets; the sound of the brass band practicing at night, blaring but
+unspeakably sad through the distance; the divine mystery of faint-
+tinted rainbows; trees in moonlight turned into great drifts of
+fairy-white blossoms.
+
+And she loved shining ripples of golden hair; and great blue eyes
+that laughed in a sidewise glance and then turned softly pensive in
+a second; and a sweet high voice now vivacious and now falling into
+hushed cadences; and delicate white hands always restlessly
+fluttering; and, a drifting, elusive fragrance, as of wind-swept
+petals. . .
+
+All of which meant that she loved Aunt Isabel very much; especially
+in the frilly, pastel-flowered organdy she was wearing to-day--an
+"extravagant" dress, doubtless, but lovely enough to justify that.
+Naturally such a person as Aunt Isabel would make her home a
+beautiful place. It was a "bungalow." Missy had often regretted that
+her own home had been built before the vogue of the bungalow. And
+now, when she beheld Aunt Isabel's enchanting house, the solid,
+substantial furnishings left behind in Cherryvale lost all their
+savour for her, even the old-fashioned "quaintness" of grandma's
+house.
+
+For Aunt Isabel's house was what Pleasanton termed "artistic." It
+had white-painted woodwork, and built-in bookshelves instead of
+ordinary bookcases, and lots of window-seats, and chintz draperies
+which trailed flowers or birds or peacocks, which were like a
+combination of both, and big wicker chairs with deep cushions--all
+very bright and cosy and beautiful. In the living-room were some
+Chinese embroideries which Missy liked, especially when the sun came
+in and shone upon their soft, rich colours; she had never before
+seen Chinese embroideries and, thus, encountered a brand-new love.
+Then Aunt Isabel was the kind of woman who keeps big bowls of fresh
+flowers sitting around in all the rooms, even if there's no party--a
+delightful habit. Missy was going to adore watching Aunt Isabel's
+pretty, restless hands flutter about as, each morning, she arranged
+the fresh flowers in their bowls.
+
+Even in Missy's room there was a little bowl of jade-green pottery,
+a colour which harmonized admirably with sweet peas, late roses,
+nasturtiums, or what-not. And all the furniture in that room was
+painted white, while the chintz bloomed with delicate little
+nosegays.
+
+The one inharmonious element was that of Uncle Charlie's
+indisposition--not only the fact that he was suffering, but also the
+nature of his ailment. For Uncle Charlie, it developed, had been
+helping move a barrel of mixed-pickles in the grocery department of
+his store, and the barrel had fallen full-weight upon his foot and
+broken his big toe. Missy realized that, of course, a tournament
+with a sword-thrust in the heart, or some catastrophe like that,
+would have meant a more dangerous injury; but--a barrel of pickles!
+And his big toe! Any toe was unromantic. But the BIG toe! That was
+somehow the worst of all.
+
+Uncle Charlie, however, spoke quite openly of the cause of his
+trouble. Also of its locale. Indeed, he could hardly have concealed
+the latter, as his whole foot was bandaged up, and he had to hobble
+about, very awkwardly, with the aid of a cane.
+
+Uncle Charlie's indisposition kept him from accompanying Missy and
+Aunt Isabel to an ice-cream festival which was held on the
+Congregational church lawn that first night. Aunt Isabel was a
+Congregationalist; and, as mother was a Presbyterian and grandma a
+Methodist, Missy was beginning to feel a certain kinship with all
+religions.
+
+This festival proved to be a sort of social gathering, because the
+Congregational church in Pleasanton was attended by the town's
+"best" people. The women were as stylishly dressed as though they
+were at a bridge party--or a tournament. The church lawn looked very
+picturesque with red, blue and yellow lanterns--truly a fair lawn
+and "well victualled" with its ice-cream tables in the open. Large
+numbers of people strolled about, and ate, and chatted and laughed.
+The floating voices of people you couldn't see, the flickering light
+of the lanterns, the shadows just beyond their swaying range, all
+made it seem gay and alluring, so that you almost forgot that it was
+only a church festival.
+
+A big moon rose up from behind the church-tower, a beautiful and
+medieval-looking combination. Missy thought of those olden-time
+feasts "unto kings and dukes," when there was revel and play, and
+"all manner of noblesse." And, though none but her suspected it, the
+little white-covered tables became long, rough-hewn boards, and the
+Congregational ladies' loaned china became antique-looking pewter,
+and the tumblers of water were golden flaskets of noble wine. Missy,
+who was helping Aunt Isabel serve at one of the tables, attended her
+worshipful patrons with all manner of noblesse. She was glad she was
+wearing her best pink mull with the brocaded sash.
+
+Aunt Isabel's table was well patronized. It seemed to Missy that
+most of the men present tried to get "served" here. Perhaps it was
+because they admired Aunt Isabel. Missy couldn't have blamed them
+for that, because none of the other Congregational ladies was half
+as pretty. To-night Aunt Isabel had on a billowy pale-blue organdy,
+and she looked more like an angel than ever. An ethereally radiant,
+laughing, vivacious angel. And whenever she moved near you, you
+caught a ghostly whiff of that delicious perfume. (Missy now knows
+Aunt Isabel got it from little sachet bags, tucked away with her
+clothes, and from an "atomizer" which showered a delicate, fairy-
+like spray of fragrance upon her hair.) There was one young man, who
+was handsome in a dark, imperious way, who hung about and ate so
+much ice-cream that Missy feared lest he should have an "upset" to-
+morrow.
+
+Also, there was another persevering patron for whom she surmised,
+with modest palpitation, Aunt Isabel might not be the chief
+attraction. The joy of being a visiting girl was begun! This
+individual was a talkative, self-confident youth named Raleigh
+Peters. She loved the name Raleigh--though for the Peters part she
+didn't care so much. And albeit, with the dignity which became her
+advancing years, she addressed him as "Mr. Peters," in her mind she
+preferred to think of him as "Raleigh." Raleigh, she learned (from
+himself), was the only son of a widowed mother and, though but
+little older than Missy, had already started making his own way by
+clerking in Uncle Charlie's store. He clerked in the grocery
+department, the prosperity of which, she gathered, was largely due
+to his own connection with it. Some day, he admitted, he was going
+to own the biggest grocery store in the State. He was thrillingly
+independent and ambitious and assured. All that seemed admirable,
+but--if only he hadn't decided on groceries! "Peters' Grocery
+Store!" Missy thought of jousting, of hawking, of harping, customs
+which noble gentlemen used to follow, and sighed.
+
+But Raleigh, unaware that his suit had been lost before it started,
+accompanied them all home. "All" because the dark and imperiously
+handsome young man went along, too. His name was Mr. Saunders, and
+Missy had now learned he was a "travelling man" who came to
+Pleasanton to sell Uncle Charlie merchandise; he was also quite a
+friend of the family's, she gathered, and visited them at the house.
+
+When they reached home, Mr. Saunders suggested stopping in a minute
+to see how Uncle Charlie was. However, Uncle Charlie, it turned out,
+was already in bed.
+
+"But you needn't go yet, anyway," said Aunt Isabel. "It's heavenly
+out here on the porch."
+
+"Doesn't the hour wax late?" demurred Mr. Saunders. "Wax late!"--
+What quaint, delightful language he used!
+
+"Oh, it's still early. Stay a while, and help shake off the
+atmosphere of the festival--those festivals bore me to death!"
+
+Odd how women can act one way while they're feeling another way!
+Missy had supposed, at the festival, that Aunt Isabel was having a
+particularly enjoyable time.
+
+"Stay and let's have some music," Aunt Isabel went on. "You left
+your ukelele here last week."
+
+So the handsome Mr. Saunders played the ukelele!--How wonderfully
+that suited his type. And it was just the kind of moonlight night
+for music. Missy rejoiced when Mr. Saunders decided to stay, and
+Aunt Isabel went in the house for the ukelele. It was heavenly when
+Mr. Saunders began to play and sing. The others had seated
+themselves in porch chairs, but he chose a place on the top step,
+his head thrown back against a pillar, and the moon shining full on
+his dark, imperious face. His bold eyes now gazed dreamily into
+distance as, in a golden tenor that seemed to melt into the
+moonlight itself, he sang:
+
+"They plucked the stars out of the blue, dear, Gave them to you,
+dear, For eyes . . . "
+
+The ukelele under his fingers thrummed out a soft, vibrant,
+melancholy accompaniment. It was divine! Here surely was a "harper
+passing all other!" Mr. Saunders looked something like a knight,
+too--all but his costume. He was so tall and dark and handsome; and
+his dark eyes were bold, though now so soft from his own music.
+
+The music stopped. Aunt Isabel jumped up from her porch chair, left
+the shadows, and seated herself beside him on the moonlit top.
+
+"That looks easy," she said. "Show me how to do it."
+
+She took the ukelele from him. He showed her how to place her
+fingers--their fingers got tangled up--they laughed.
+
+Missy started to laugh, too, but stopped right in the middle of it.
+A sudden thought had struck her, remembrance of another beauteous
+lady who had been "learned" to harp. She gazed down on Aunt Isabel--
+how beautiful there in the white moonlight! So fair and slight, the
+scarf-thing around her shoulders like a shroud of mist, hair like
+unto gold, eyes like the stars of heaven. Her eyes were now lifted
+laughingly to Mr. Saunders'. She was so close he must catch that
+faintly sweetness of her hair. He returned the look and started to
+sing again; while La Beale--no, Aunt Isabel--
+
+Even the names were alike!
+
+Missy drew in a quick, sharp breath. Mr. Saunders, now smiling
+straight at Aunt Isabel as she tried to pick the chords, went on:
+
+"They plucked the stars out of the blue, dear, Gave them to you,
+dear, For eyes . . ."
+
+How expressively he sang those words! Missy became troubled. Of
+course Romance was beautiful but those things belonged in ancient
+times. You wouldn't want things like that right in your own family,
+especially when Uncle Charlie already had a broken big toe . . .
+
+She forgot that the music was beautiful, the night bewitching; she
+even forgot to listen to what Raleigh was saying, till he leaned
+forward and demanded irately:
+
+"Say! you haven't gone to sleep, have you?"
+
+Missy gave a start, blinked, and looked self-conscious.
+
+"Oh, excuse me," she murmured. "I guess I was sort of dreaming."
+
+Mr. Saunders, overhearing, glanced up at her.
+
+"The spell of moon and music, fair maid?" he asked. And, though he
+smiled, she didn't feel that he was making fun of her.
+
+Again that quaint language! A knight of old might have talked that
+way! But Missy, just now, was doubtful as to whether a knight in the
+flesh was entirely desirable.
+
+It was with rather confused emotions that, after the visitors had
+departed and she had told Aunt Isabel good night, Missy went up to
+the little white-painted, cretonne-draped room. Life was
+interesting, but sometimes it got very queer.
+
+After she had undressed and snapped off the light, she leaned out of
+the window and looked at the night for a long time. Missy loved the
+night; the hordes of friendly little stars which nodded and
+whispered to one another; the round silver moon, up there at some
+enigmatic distance yet able to transfigure the whole world with
+fairy-whiteness--turning the dew on the grass into pearls, the
+leaves on the trees into trembling silver butterflies, and the dusty
+street into a breadth of shimmering silk. At night, too, the very
+flowers seemed to give out a sweeter odour; perhaps that was because
+you couldn't see them.
+
+Missy leaned farther out the window to sniff in that damp, sweet
+scent of unseen flowers, to feel the white moonlight on her hand.
+She had often wished that, by some magic, the world might be enabled
+to spin out its whole time in such a gossamer, irradiant sheen as
+this--a sort of moon-haunted night-without-end, keeping you tingling
+with beautiful, blurred, indescribable feelings.
+
+But to-night, for the first time, Missy felt skeptical as to that
+earlier desire. She still found the night beautiful--oh,
+inexpressibly beautiful!--but moonlight nights were what made lovers
+want to look into each other's eyes, and sing each other love songs
+"with expression." To be sure, she had formerly considered this very
+tendency an elysian feature of such nights; but that was when she
+thought that love always was right for its own sake, that true
+lovers never should be thwarted. She still held by that belief; and
+yet--she visioned Uncle Charlie, dear Uncle Charlie, so fond of
+buying Aunt Isabel extravagant organdies and slippers to match; so
+like grandpa and father--and King Mark!
+
+Missy had always hated King Mark, the lawful husband, the enemy of
+true love. But Romance gets terribly complicated when it threatens
+to leave the Middle Ages, pop right in on you when you are visiting
+in Pleasanton; and when the lawful husband is your own Uncle
+Charlie--poor Uncle Charlie!--lying in there suffering with his
+broken--well there was no denying it was his big toe.
+
+Missy didn't know that her eyes had filled--tears sometimes came so
+unexpectedly nowadays--till a big drop splashed down on her hand.
+
+She felt very, very sad. Often she didn't mind being sad. Sometimes
+she even enjoyed it in a peculiar way on moonlit nights; found a
+certain pleasant poignancy of exaltation in the feeling. But there
+are different kinds of sadness. To-night she didn't like it. She
+forsook the moonlit vista and crept into bed.
+
+The next morning she overslept. Perhaps it was because she wasn't in
+her own little east room at home, where the sun and Poppy, her cat,
+vied to waken her; or perhaps because it had turned intensely hot
+and sultry during the night--the air seemed to glue down her eyelids
+so as to make waking up all the harder.
+
+It was Sunday, and, when she finally got dressed and downstairs, the
+house was still unusually quiet. But she found Uncle Charlie in his
+"den" with the papers. He said Aunt Isabel was staying in bed with a
+headache; and he himself hobbled into the dining room with Missy,
+and sat with her while the maid (Aunt Isabel called her hired girl a
+"maid") gave her breakfast.
+
+Uncle Charlie seemed cheerful despite his--his trouble. And
+everything seemed so peaceful and beautiful that Missy could hardly
+realize that ever Tragedy might come to this house. Somewhere in the
+distance church bells were tranquilly sounding. Out in the kitchen
+could be heard the ordinary clatter of dishes. And in the dining
+room it was very, very sweet. The sun filtered through the gently
+swaying curtains, touching vividly the sweet peas on the breakfast-
+table. The sweet peas were arranged to stand upright in a round,
+shallow bowl, just as if they were growing up out of a little pool--
+a marvellously artistic effect. The china was very artistic, too,
+Japanese, with curious-looking dragons in soft old-blue. And, after
+the orange, she had a finger-bowl with a little sprig of rose-
+geranium she could crunch between her fingers till it sent out a
+heavenly odour. It was just like Aunt Isabel to have rose-geranium
+in her finger-bowls!
+
+Her mind was filled with scarcely defined surmises concerning Aunt
+Isabel, her unexpected headache, and the too handsome harper. But
+Uncle Charlie, unsuspecting, talked on in that cheerful strain. He
+was teasing Missy because she liked the ham and eggs and muffins,
+and took a second helping of everything.
+
+"Good thing I can get groceries at wholesale!" he bantered. "Else
+I'd never dare ask you to visit me!"
+
+Missy returned his smile, grateful that the matter of her appetite
+might serve to keep him jolly a little while longer. Perhaps he
+didn't even suspect, yet. DID he suspect? She couldn't forbear a
+tentative question:
+
+"What seems to be the matter with Aunt Isabel, Uncle Charlie?"
+
+"Why, didn't I tell you she has a headache?'
+
+"Oh! a headache." She was silent a second; then, as if there was
+something strange about this malady, she went on: "Did she SAY she
+had a headache?"
+
+"Of course, my dear. It's a pretty bad one. I guess it must be the
+weather." It was hot. Uncle Charlie had taken off his coat and was
+in his shirt sleeves--she was pleased to note it was a silken shirt;
+little beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead, and on his
+head where it was just beginning to get bald. Somehow, the fact that
+he looked so hot had the effect of making her feel even more tender
+toward him. So, though she thirsted for information, not for the
+world would she have aroused his suspicions by questions. And she
+made her voice very casual, when she finally enquired:
+
+"By the way, that Mr. Saunders who brought us home is awfully
+handsome. Sort of gallant looking, don't you think?"
+
+Uncle Charlie laughed; then shook his finger at her in mock
+admonition.
+
+"Oh, Missy! You've fallen, too?"
+
+Missy gulped; Uncle Charlie had made an unwitting revelation! But
+she tried not to give herself away; still casual, she asked:
+
+"Oh! do other people fall?"
+
+"All the ladies fall for Saunders," said Uncle Charlie.
+
+Missy hesitated, then hazarded:
+
+"Aunt Isabel, too?"
+
+"Oh, yes." Uncle Charlie looked pathetically unconcerned. "Aunt
+Isabel likes to have him around. He often comes in handy at dances."
+
+It would be just like Mr. Saunders to be a good dancer!
+
+"He harps well, too," she said meditatively.
+
+"What's that?" enquired Uncle Charlie.
+
+"Oh, I mean that thing he plays."
+
+"The ukelele. Yes, Saunders is a wizard with it. But in spite of
+that he's a good fellow." (What did "in spite of that" mean--didn't
+Uncle Charlie approve of harpers?)
+
+He continued: "He sometimes goes on fishing-trips with me."
+
+Fishing-trips! From father Missy had learned that this was the
+highest proof of camaraderie. So Uncle Charlie didn't suspect. He
+was harbouring the serpent in his very bosom. Missy crumpled the
+fragrant rose-geranium reflectively between her fingers.
+
+Then Uncle Charlie suggested that she play something for him on the
+piano. And Missy, feeling every minute tenderer toward him because
+she must keep to herself the dreadful truths which would hurt him if
+he knew, hurried to his side, took away his cane, and put her own
+arm in its place for him to lean on. And Uncle Charlie seemed to
+divine there was something special in her deed, for he reached down
+and patted the arm which supported him, and said:
+
+"You're a dear child, Missy."
+
+In the living-room the sun was shining through the charming,
+cretonne-hung bay window and upon the soft, rich colours of the
+Chinese embroideries. The embroideries were on the wall beyond the
+piano, so that she could see them while she played. Uncle Charlie
+wasn't in her range of vision unless she turned her head; but she
+could smell his cigar, and could sense him sitting there very quiet
+in a big wicker chair, smoking, his eyes half closed, his bandaged
+foot stretched out on a little stool.
+
+And her poignant feeling of sympathy for him, sitting there thus,
+and her rapturous delight in the sun-touched colours of the
+embroideries, and the hushed peace of the hot Sabbath morning, all
+seemed to intermingle and pierce to her very soul. She was glad to
+play the piano. When deeply moved she loved to play, to pour out her
+feelings in dreamy melodies and deep vibrant harmonies with queer
+minor cadences thrown in--the kind of music you can play "with
+expression," while you vision mysterious, poetic pictures.
+
+After a moment's reflection, she decided on "The Angel's Serenade";
+she knew it by heart, and adored playing it. There was something
+brightly-sweet and brightly-sad in those strains of loveliness; she
+could almost hear the soft flutter of angelic wings, almost see the
+silvery sheen of them astir. And, oddly, all that sheen and stir,
+all that sadly-sweet sound, seemed to come from within herself--just
+as if her own soul were singing, instead of the piano keyboard.
+
+And with Missy, to play "The Angel's Serenade" was to crave playing
+more such divine pieces; she drifted on into "Traumerei"; "Simple
+Confession"; "One Sweetly Solemn Thought," with variations. She
+played them all with extra "expression," putting all her loving
+sympathy for Uncle Charlie into her finger-tips. And he must have
+been soothed by it, for he dozed off, and came to with a start when
+she finally paused, to tell her how beautifully she played.
+
+Then began a delicious time of talking together. Uncle Charlie was
+like grandpa--the kind of man you enjoyed talking with, about deep,
+unusual things. They talked about music, and the meaning of the
+pieces she'd played. Then about reading. He asked her what she was
+reading nowadays.
+
+"This is your book, isn't it?" he enquired, picking up "The Romances
+of King Arthur" from the table beside him. Heavens! how tactless of
+her to have brought it down this morning! But there was nothing for
+her to do, save to act in a natural, casual manner.
+
+"Yes," she said.
+
+Uncle Charlie opened the book. Heavens! it fell open at the
+illustration of the two lovers drinking the fateful potion!
+
+"Which is your favourite legend?" he asked.
+
+Missy was too nervous to utter anything but the simple truth.
+
+"The story of Sir Tristram and La Beale Isoud," she answered.
+
+"Ah," said Uncle Charlie. He gazed at the picture she knew so well.
+What was he thinking?
+
+"Why is it your favourite?" he went on.
+
+"I don't know--because it's so romantic, I guess. And so sad and
+beautiful."
+
+"Ah, yes," said Uncle Charlie. "You have a feeling for the classic,
+I see. You call her 'Isoud'?"
+
+That pleased Missy; and, despite her agitation over this malaprop
+theme, she couldn't resist the impulse to air her lately acquired
+learning.
+
+"Yes, but she has different names in all the different languages,
+you know. And she was the most beautiful lady or maiden that ever
+lived."
+
+"Is that so?" said Uncle Charlie. "More beautiful than your Aunt
+Isabel?"
+
+Missy hesitated, confused; the conversation was getting on dangerous
+ground. "Why, I guess they're the same type, don't you? I've often
+thought Aunt Isabel looks like La Beale Isoud."
+
+Uncle Charlie smiled again at her--an altogether cheerful kind of
+smile; no, he didn't suspect any tragic undercurrent beneath this
+pleasant-sounding conversation. All he said was:
+
+"Aunt Isabel should feel flattered--but I hope she finds a happier
+lot."
+
+Ah!
+
+"Yes, I hope so," breathed Missy, rather weakly.
+
+Then Uncle Charlie at last closed the book.
+
+"Poor Tristram and Isolde," he said, as if speaking an epitaph.
+
+But Missy caught her breath. Uncle Charlie felt sorry for the ill-
+fated lovers. Oh, if he only knew!
+
+At dinner time (on Sundays they had midday dinner here), Aunt Isabel
+came down to the table. She said her head was better, but she looked
+pale; and her blue eyes were just like the Blessed Damozel's,
+"deeper than the depth of waters stilled at even." Yet, pale and
+quiet like this, she seemed even more beautiful than ever,
+especially in that adorable lavender negligee--with slippers to
+match. Missy regarded her with secret fascination.
+
+After dinner, complaining of the heat, Aunt Isabel retired to her
+room again. She suggested that Missy take a nap, also. Missy didn't
+think she was sleepy, but, desiring to be alone with her bewildered
+thoughts, she went upstairs and lay down. The better to think things
+over, she closed her eyes; and when she opened them to her amazement
+there was Aunt Isabel standing beside the bed--a radiant vision in
+pink organdy this time--and saying:
+
+"Wake up, sleepy-head! It's nearly six o'clock!"
+
+Aunt Isabel, her vivacious self once more, with gentle fingers (Oh,
+hard not to love Aunt Isabel!) helped Missy get dressed for supper.
+
+It was still so hot that, at supper, everyone drank a lot of ice-tea
+and ate a lot of ice-cream. Missy felt in a steam all over when they
+rose from the table and went out to sit on the porch. It was very
+serene, for all the sultriness, out on the porch; and Aunt Isabel
+was so sweet toward Uncle Charlie that Missy felt her gathering
+suspicions had something of the unreal quality of a nightmare. Aunt
+Isabel was reading aloud to Uncle Charlie out of the Sunday paper.
+Beautiful! The sunset was carrying away its gold like some bold
+knight with his captured, streaming-tressed lady. The fitful breeze
+whispered in the rhythm of olden ballads. Unseen church bells sent
+long-drawn cadences across the evening hush. And the little stars
+quivered into being, to peer at the young poignancy of feeling which
+cannot know what it contributes to the world. . .
+
+Everything was idyllic--that is, almost idyllic--till, suddenly
+Uncle Charlie spoke:
+
+"Isn't that Saunders coming up the street?"
+
+Why, oh why, did Mr. Saunders have to come and spoil everything?
+
+But poor Uncle Charlie seemed glad to see him--just as glad as Aunt
+Isabel. Mr. Saunders sat up there amongst them, laughing and joking,
+now and then directing one of his quaint, romantic-sounding phrases
+at Missy. And she pretended to be pleased with him--indeed, she
+would have liked Mr. Saunders under any other circumstances.
+
+Presently he exclaimed:
+
+"By my halidome, I'm hot! My kingdom for a long, tall ice-cream
+soda!"
+
+And Uncle Charlie said:
+
+"Well, why don't you go and get one? The drug store's just two
+blocks around the corner."
+
+"A happy suggestion," said Mr. Saunders. He turned to Aunt Isabel.
+"Will you join me?"
+
+"Indeed I will," she answered. "I'm stifling."
+
+Then Mr. Saunders looked at Missy.
+
+"And you, fair maid?"
+
+Missy thought a cool soda would taste good.
+
+At the drug store, the three of them sat on tall stools before the
+white marble counter, and quaffed heavenly cold soda from high
+glasses in silver-looking flaskets. "Poor Charlie! He likes soda,
+so," remarked Aunt Isabel.
+
+"Why not take him some?"
+
+Missy didn't know you could do that, but the drug store man said it
+would be all right.
+
+Then they all started home again, Aunt Isabel carrying the silver-
+looking flasket.
+
+It was when they were about half-way, that Aunt Isabel suddenly
+exclaimed:
+
+"Do you know, I believe I could drink another soda? I feel hotter
+than ever--and it looks so good!"
+
+"Why not drink it, then?" asked Mr. Saunders.
+
+"Oh, no," said Aunt Isabel.
+
+"Do," he insisted. "We can go back and get another."
+
+"Well, I'll take a taste," she said.
+
+On the words, she lifted the flasket to her lips and took a long
+draught. Then Mr. Saunders, laughing, caught it from her, and he
+took a long draught.
+
+Missy felt a wave of icy horror sweep down her spine. She wanted to
+cry out in protest. For, even while she stared at them, at Aunt
+Isabel in pink organdie and Mr. Saunders in blue serge dividing the
+flasket of soda between them, a vision presented itself clearly
+before her eyes:
+
+La Beale Isoud slenderly tall in a straight girdled gown of grey-
+green velvet, head thrown back so that her filleted golden hair
+brushed her shoulders, violet eyes half-closed, and an "antique"-
+looking flasket clasped in her two slim hands; and Sir Tristram so
+imperiously dark and handsome in his crimson, fur-trimmed doublet,
+his two hands stretched out and gripping her two shoulders, his
+black eyes burning as if to look through her closed lids--the
+magical love-potion. . . love that never would depart for weal
+neither for woe. . .
+
+Missy closed her eyes tight, as if fearing what they might behold in
+the flesh. But when she opened them again, Aunt Isabel was only
+gazing into the drained flasket with a rueful expression.
+
+Then they went back and got another soda for Uncle Charlie. And poor
+Uncle Charlie, unsuspecting, seemed to enjoy it.
+
+During the remainder of that evening Missy was unusually subdued.
+She realized, of course, that there were no love-potions nowadays;
+that they existed only in the Middle Ages; and that the silver
+flasket contained everyday ice-cream soda. And she wasn't sure she
+knew exactly what the word "symbol" meant, but she felt that somehow
+the ice-cream soda, shared between them, was symbolic of that
+famous, fateful drink. She wished acutely that this second episode,
+so singularly parallel, hadn't happened.
+
+She was still absorbed in gloomy meditations when Mr. Saunders arose
+to go.
+
+"Oh, it's early yet," protested Uncle Charlie--dear, kind, ignorant
+Uncle Charlie!
+
+"But I've got to catch the ten-thirty-five," said Mr. Saunders.
+
+"Why can't you stay over till to-morrow night," suggested Aunt
+Isabel. She had risen, too, and now put her hand on Mr. Saunders's
+sleeve; her face looked quite pleading in the moonlight. "There's to
+be a dance in Odd Fellows' Hall."
+
+"I'd certainly love to stay." He even dared to take hold of her hand
+openly. "But I've got to be in Paola in the morning, and Blue Mound
+next day."
+
+"The orchestra's coming down from Macon City," she cajoled.
+
+"Now, don't make it any harder for me," begged Mr. Saunders, smiling
+down at her.
+
+Aunt Isabel petulantly drew away her hand.
+
+"You're selfish! And Charlie laid up and all!"
+
+Mr. Saunders outspread his hands in a helpless gesture.
+
+"Well, you know the hard lot of the knight of the road--here to-day,
+gone to-morrow, never able to stay where his heart would wish!"
+
+Missy caught her breath; how incautiously he talked!
+
+After Mr. Saunders was gone, Aunt Isabel sat relapsed in her porch
+chair, very quiet. Missy couldn't keep her eyes off of that lovely,
+apathetic figure. Once Aunt Isabel put her hand to her head.
+
+"Head hitting it up again?" asked Uncle Charlie solicitously.
+
+Aunt Isabel nodded.
+
+"You'd better get to bed, then," he said. And, despite his wounded
+toe, he wouldn't let her attend to the shutting-up "chores," but,
+accompanied by Missy, hobbled around to all the screen doors
+himself. Poor Uncle Charlie!
+
+It was hard for Missy to get to sleep that night. Her brain was a
+dark, seething whirlpool. And the air seemed to grow thicker and
+thicker; it rested heavily on her hot eyelids, pressed suffocatingly
+against her throat. And when, finally, she escaped her thoughts in
+sleep, it was only to encounter them again in troubled dreams.
+
+She was awakened abruptly by a terrific noise. Oh, Lord! what was
+it? She sat up. It sounded as if the house were falling down. Then
+the room, the whole world, turned suddenly a glaring, ghostly white-
+-then a sharp, spiteful, head-splitting crack of sound--then
+heavier, staccato volleys--then a baneful rumble, dying away.
+
+A thunder-storm! Oh, Lord! Missy buried her face in her pillow.
+Nothing in the world so terrified her as thunder-storms.
+
+She seemed to have lain there ages, scarcely breathing, when, in a
+little lull, above the fierce swish of rain she thought she heard
+voices. Cautiously she lifted her head; listened. She had left her
+door open for air and, now, she was sure she heard Uncle Charlie's
+deep voice. She couldn't hear what he was saying. Then she heard
+Aunt Isabel's voice, no louder than uncle Charlie's but more
+penetrating; it had a queer note in it--almost as if she were
+crying. Suddenly she did cry out!--And then Uncle Charlie's deep
+grumble again.
+
+Missy's heart nearly stopped beating. Could it be that Uncle Charlie
+had found out?--That he was accusing Aunt Isabel and making her cry?
+But surely they wouldn't quarrel in a thunder-storm! Lightning might
+hit the house, or anything!
+
+The conjunction of terrors was too much for Missy to bear. Finally
+she crept out of bed and to the door. An unmistakable moan issued
+from Aunt Isabel's room. And then she saw Uncle Charlie, in bath-
+robe and pajamas, coming down the hall from the bathroom. He was
+carrying a hot-water bottle.
+
+"Why, what's the matter, Missy?" he asked her. "The storm frighten
+you?"
+
+Missy nodded; she couldn't voice those other horrible fears which
+were tormenting her.
+
+"Well, the worst is over now," he said reassuringly. "Run back to
+bed. Your aunt's sick again--I've just been filling the hot-water
+bottle for her."
+
+"Is she--very sick?" asked Missy tremulously.
+
+"Pretty sick," answered Uncle Charlie. "But there's nothing you can
+do. Jump back into bed."
+
+So Missy crept back, and listened to the gradual steadying down of
+the rain. She was almost sorry, now, that the whirlwind of frantic
+elements had subsided; that had been a sort of terrible complement
+to the whirlwind of anguish within herself.
+
+She lay there tense, strangling a desperate impulse to sob. La Beale
+Isoud had died of love--and now Aunt Isabel was already sickening.
+She half-realized that people don't die of love nowadays--that
+happened only in the Middle Ages; yet, there in the black stormy
+night, strange, horrible fancies overruled the sane convictions of
+daytime. It was fearfully significant, Aunt Isabel's sickening so
+quickly, so mysteriously. And immediately after Mr. Saunders's
+departure. That was exactly what La Beale Isoud always did whenever
+Sir Tristram was obliged to leave her; Sir Tristram was continually
+having to flee away, a kind of knight of the road, too--to this
+battle or that tourney or what-not--"here to-day, gone to-morrow,
+never able to stay where his heart would wish."
+
+"Oh! oh!"
+
+At last exhaustion had its way with the taut, quivering little body;
+the hot eyelids closed; the burning cheek relaxed on the pillow.
+Missy slept.
+
+When she awoke, the sun, which is so blithely indifferent to
+sufferings of earth, was high up in a clear sky. The new-washed air
+was cool and sparkling as a tonic. Missy's physical being felt more
+refreshed than she cared to admit; for her turmoil of spirit had
+awakened with her, and she felt her body should be in keeping.
+
+By the time she got dressed and downstairs, Uncle Charlie had
+breakfasted and was about to go down town. He said Aunt Isabel was
+still in bed, but much better.
+
+"She had no business to drink all those sodas," he said. "Her
+stomach was already upset from all that ice-cream and cake the night
+before--and the hot weather and all--"
+
+Missy was scarcely listening to the last. One phrase had caught her
+ear: "Her stomach upset!"--How could Uncle Charlie?
+
+But when she went up to Aunt Isabel's room later, the latter
+reiterated that unromantic diagnosis. But perhaps she was
+pretending. That would be only natural.
+
+Missy regarded the convalescent; she seemed quite cheerful now,
+though wan. And not so lovely as she generally did. Missy couldn't
+forbear a leading remark.
+
+"I'm terribly sorry Mr. Saunders had to go away so soon." She strove
+for sympathetic tone, but felt inexpert and self-conscious.
+"Terribly sorry. I can't--"
+
+And then, suddenly, Aunt Isabel laughed--laughed!--and said a
+surprising thing.
+
+"What! You, too, Missy? Oh, that's too funny!"
+
+Missy stared--reproach, astonishment, bewilderment, contending in
+her expression.
+
+Aunt Isabel continued that delighted gurgle.
+
+"Mr. Saunders is a notorious heart-breaker--but I didn't realize he
+was capturing yours so speedily!"
+
+Striving to keep her dignity, Missy perhaps made her tone more
+severe than she intended.
+
+"Well," she accused, "didn't he capture yours, Aunt Isabel?"
+
+Then Aunt Isabel, still laughing a little, but with a serious shade
+creeping into her eyes, reached out for one of Missy's hands and
+smoothed it gently between her own.
+
+"No, dear; I'm afraid your Uncle Charlie has that too securely
+tucked away."
+
+Something in Aunt Isabel's voice, her manner, her eyes, even more
+than her words, convinced Missy that she was speaking the real
+truth. It was all a kind of wild jumbled day-dream she'd been
+having. La Beale Aunt Isabel wasn't in love with Mr. Saunders after
+all! She was in love with Uncle Charlie. There had been no romantic
+undermeaning in all that harp-ukelele business, in the flasket of
+ice-cream soda, in the mysterious sickness. The sickness wasn't even
+mysterious any longer. Aunt Isabel had only had an "upset."
+
+Deeply stirred, Missy withdrew her hand.
+
+"I think I forgot to open my bed to air," she said, and hurried away
+to her own room. But, oblivious of the bed, she stood for a long
+time at the window, staring out at nothing.
+
+Yes; Romance had died out in the Middle Ages. . .
+
+She was still standing there when the maid called her to the
+telephone. It was Raleigh Peters on the wire, asking to take her to
+the dance that night. She accepted, but without enthusiasm. Where
+were the thrills she had expected to experience while receiving the
+homage paid a visiting girl? He was just a grocery clerk named
+Peters!
+
+Yes; Romance had died out in the Middle Ages. . .
+
+She felt very blase as she hung up the receiver.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+IN THE MANNER OF THE DUCHESS
+
+
+It was raining--a gentle, trickling summer rain, when, under a heap
+of magazines near a heavenly attic window, Missy and Tess came upon
+the paper-backed masterpieces of "The Duchess."
+
+The volume Missy chanced first to select for reading was entitled
+"Airy Fairy Lilian." The very first paragraph was arresting:
+
+Down the broad oak staircase--through the silent hall--into the
+drawing-room runs Lilian, singing as she goes. The room is deserted;
+through the half-closed blinds the glad sunshine is rushing, turning
+to gold all on which its soft touch lingers, and rendering the
+large, dull, handsome apartment almost comfortable. . .
+
+"Broad oak staircase"--"drawing-room"--"large, dull, handsome
+apartment"--oh, wonderful!
+
+Then on to the description of the alluring heroine:
+
+. . . the face is more than pretty, it is lovely--the fair, sweet,
+childish face, framed in by its yellow hair; her great velvety eyes,
+now misty through vain longing, are blue as the skies above her; her
+nose is pure Greek; her forehead low, but broad, is partly shrouded
+by little wandering threads of gold that every now and then break
+loose from bondage, while her lashes, long and dark, curl upward
+from her eyes, as though hating to conceal the beauty of the
+exquisite azure within. . . There is a certain haughtiness about her
+that contrasts curiously but pleasantly with her youthful expression
+and laughing, kissable mouth. She is straight and lissome as a young
+ash tree; her hands and feet are small and well-shaped; in a word,
+she is chic from the crown of her fair head down to her little
+arched instep . . .
+
+Missy sighed; how wonderful it must be to be a creature so endowed
+by the gods!
+
+Missy--Melissa--now, at the advanced age of fifteen, had supposed
+she knew all the wonders of books. She had learned to read the Book
+of Life: its enchantments, so many and so varied in Cherryvale, had
+kept her big grey eyes wide with smiles or wonder or, just
+occasionally, darkened with the mystery of sorrow. There was the
+reiterant magic of greening spring; and the long, leisurely days of
+delicious summer; the companionship of a quaint and infinitely
+interesting baby brother, and of her own cat--majesty incarnate on
+four black legs; and then, just lately, this exciting new "best
+friend," Tess O'Neill. Tess had recently moved to Cherryvale, and
+was "different"--different even from Kitty Allen, though Missy had
+suffered twinges about letting anyone displace Kitty. But--
+
+And, now, here it was in Tess's adorable attic (full of treasures
+discarded by departed tenants of the old Smith place) that Missy
+turned one of Life's milestones and met "the Duchess."
+
+Missy had loved to read the Bible (good stories there, and beautiful
+words that made you tingle solemnly); and fairy tales never old;
+and, almost best of all, the Anthology, full of poetry, that made
+you feel a strange live spirit back of the wind and a world of
+mysteries beyond the curtain of the sky.
+
+But this--
+
+The lure of letters was turned loud and seductive as the Blue Danube
+played on a golden flute by a boy king with his crown on!
+
+Tess glanced up from her reading.
+
+"How's your book?" she enquired.
+
+"Oh, it's wonderful," breathed Missy.
+
+"Mine, too. Here's a description that reminds me a little of you."
+
+"Me?" incredulously.
+
+"Yes. It's about the heroine--Phyllis. She's not pretty, but she's
+got a strange, underlying charm."
+
+Missy held her breath. She was ashamed to ask Tess to read the
+description of the strangely charming heroine, but Tess knew what
+friendship demanded, and read:
+
+"'I am something over five-feet-two, with brown hair that hangs in
+rich chestnut tresses far below my waist.'"
+
+"Oh," put in Missy modestly, while her heart palpitated, "my hair is
+just mouse-coloured."
+
+"No," denied Tess authoritatively, "you've got nut-brown locks. And
+your eyes, too, are something like Phyllis's eyes--great grey eyes
+with subtle depths. Only yours haven't got saucy hints in them."
+
+Missy wished her eyes included the saucy hints. However, she was
+enthralled by Tess's comparison, though incomplete. Was it possible
+Tess was right?
+
+Missy wasn't vain, but she'd heard before that she had "beautiful
+eyes." Perhaps Tess WAS right. Missy blushed and was silent. Just
+then, even had she known the proper reply to make, she couldn't have
+voiced it. As "the Duchess" might have phrased it, she was
+"naturally covered with confusion."
+
+But already Tess had flitted from the delightfully embarrassing
+theme of her friend's looks.
+
+"Wouldn't it be grand," she murmured dreamily, "to live in England?"
+
+"Yes--grand," murmured Missy in response.
+
+"Everything's so--so baronial over there."
+
+Baronial!--as always, Tess had hit upon the exact word. Missy sighed
+again. She had always loved Cherryvale, always been loyal to it; but
+no one could accuse Cherryvale of being "baronial."
+
+That evening, when Missy went upstairs to smooth her "nut-brown
+locks" before supper, she gazed about her room with an expression of
+faint dissatisfaction. It was an adequate, even pretty room, with
+its flowered wall-paper and lace curtains and bird's-eye maple
+"set"; and, by the window, a little drop-front desk where she could
+sit and write at the times when feeling welled in her till it
+demanded an outlet.
+
+But, now, she had an inner confused vision of "lounging-chairs"
+covered with pale-blue satin; of velvet, spindle-legged tables hung
+with priceless lace and bearing Dresden baskets smothered in
+flowers. Oh, beautiful! If only to her, Missy, such habitation might
+ever befall!
+
+However, when she started to "brush up" her hair, she eyed it with a
+regard more favourable than usual. "Rich chestnut tresses!" She
+lingered to contemplate, in the mirror, the great grey eyes which
+looked back at her from their subtle depths. She had a suspicion the
+act was silly, but it was satisfying.
+
+That evening at the supper-table marked the beginning of a phase in
+Missy's life which was to cause her family bewilderment, secret
+surmise, amusement and some anxiety.
+
+During the meal she talked very little. She had learned long ago to
+keep her thoughts to herself, because old people seldom understand
+you. Often they ask embarrassing questions and, even if they don't
+laugh at you, you have the feeling they may be laughing inside. Her
+present thoughts were so delectable and engrossing that Missy did
+not always hear when she was spoken to. Toward the end of the meal,
+just as she caught herself in the nick of time about to pour vinegar
+instead of cream over her berries, mother said:
+
+"Well, Missy, what's the day-dream this time?"
+
+Missy felt her cheeks "crimson with confusion." Yesterday, at such a
+question, she would have made an evasive answer; but now, so much
+was she one with the charming creature of her thoughts, she forgot
+to be cautious. She cast her mother a pensive glance from her great
+grey eyes.
+
+"I don't know--I just feel sort of triste."
+
+"Tristy?" repeated her astonished parent, using Missy's
+pronunciation. "Yes--sad, you know."
+
+"My goodness! What makes you sad?"
+
+But Missy couldn't answer that. Unexpected questions often bring
+unexpected answers, and not till after she'd made use of the
+effective new word, did Missy pause to ponder whether she was really
+sad or not. But, now, she couldn't very well admit her lack of the
+emotion, so she repeated the pensive glance.
+
+"Does one ever know why one's sad?" she asked in a bewitchingly
+appealing tone. .
+
+"Well, I imagine that sometimes one dees," put in Aunt Nettie,
+drily.
+
+Missy ignored Aunt Nettie; often it was best to ignore Aunt Nettie--
+she was mother's old-maid sister, and she "understood" even less
+than mother did.
+
+Luckily just then, Marguerite, the coloured hired girl, came to
+clear off the table. Missy regarded her capable but undistinguished
+figure.
+
+"I wish they had butlers in Cherryvale," she observed, incautious
+again.
+
+"Butlers!--for mercy's sake!" ejaculated Aunt Nettie.
+
+"What books have you got out from the library now, Missy?" asked
+father. It was an abrupt change of topic, but Missy was glad of the
+chance to turn from Aunt Nettie's derisive smile.
+
+"Why--let me see. 'David Harum' and 'The History of Ancient Greece'
+-that's all I think. And oh, yes--I got a French dictionary on my
+way home this afternoon."
+
+"Oh! A French dictionary!" commented father.
+
+"It isn't books, Horace," remarked Aunt Nettie, incomprehensibly.
+"It's that O'Neill girl."
+
+"What's that O'Neill girl?" demanded Missy, in a low, suppressed
+voice.
+
+"Well, if you ask me, her head's full of--"
+
+But a swift gesture from mother brought Aunt Nettie to a sudden
+pause.
+
+But Missy, suspecting an implied criticism of her friend, began with
+hauteur:
+
+"I implore you to desist from making any insinuation against Tess
+O'Neill. I'm very proud to be epris with her!" (Missy made the
+climactic word rhyme with "kiss.")
+
+There was a little hush after this outburst from the usually
+reserved Missy. Father and mother stared at her and then at each
+other. But Aunt Nettie couldn't refrain from a repetition of the
+climactic word;
+
+"E-priss!" And she actually giggled!
+
+At the sound, Missy felt herself growing "deathly mute, even to the
+lips", but she managed to maintain a mien of intense composure.
+
+"What does that mean, Missy?" queried father.
+
+He was regarding her kindly, with no hint of hidden amusement.
+Father was a tall, quiet and very wise man, and Missy had sometimes
+found it possible to talk with him about the unusual things that
+rose up to fascinate her. She didn't distrust him so much as most
+grown-ups.
+
+So she smiled at him and said informatively:
+
+"It means to be in intense sympathy with."
+
+"Oh, I see. Did you find that in the French dictionary?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Well, I see we'll all have to be taking up foreign languages if
+we're to have such an accomplished young lady in the house."
+
+He smiled at her in a way that made her almost glad, for a moment,
+that he was her father instead of a Duke who might surround her with
+baronial magnificence. Mother, too, she couldn't help loving,
+though, in her neat, practical gingham dress, she was so unlike Lady
+Chetwoode, the mother in "Airy Fairy Lilian." Lady Chetwoode wore
+dainty caps, all white lace and delicate ribbon bows that matched in
+colour her trailing gown. Her small and tapering hands were covered
+with rings. She walked with a slow, rather stately step, and there
+was a benignity about her that went straight to the heart. . . Well,
+there was something about mother, too, that went straight to the
+heart. Missy wouldn't trade off her mother for the world.
+
+But when, later, she wandered into the front parlour, she couldn't
+help wishing it were a "drawing-room." And when she moved on out to
+the side porch, she viewed with a certain discontent the peaceful
+scene before her. Usually she had loved the side porch at the sunset
+hour: the close fragrance of honeysuckles which screened one end,
+the stretch of slick green grass and the nasturtium bed aflame like
+an unstirring fire, the trees rustling softly in the evening breeze-
+-yes, she loved it all for the very tranquillity, the poignant
+tranquillity of it.
+
+But that was before she realized there were in the world vast swards
+that swept beyond pleasure-grounds (what WERE "pleasure-grounds"?),
+past laughing brooklets and gurgling streams, on to the Park where
+roamed herds of many-antlered deer and where mighty oaks flung their
+arms far and wide; while mayhap, on a topmost branch, a crow swayed
+and swung as the soft wind rushed by, making an inky blot upon the
+brilliant green, as if it were a patch upon the alabaster cheek of
+some court belle . . .
+
+Oh, enchanting!
+
+But there were no vast swards nor pleasure-grounds nor Parks of
+antlered deer in Cherryvale.
+
+Then Poppylinda, the majestic black cat, trod up the steps of the
+porch and rubbed herself against her mistress's foot, as if saying,
+"Anyhow, I'm here!"
+
+Missy reached down and lifted Poppy to her lap. She adored Poppy;
+but she couldn't help reflecting that a Skye terrier (though she had
+never seen one) was a more distinguished kind of pet than a black
+cat. A black cat was--well, bourgeois (the last rhyming with
+"boys"). Airy fairy Lilian's pet was a Skye. It was named Fifine,
+and was very frisky. Lilian, as she sat exchanging sprightly
+badinage with her many admirers, was wont to sit with her hand perdu
+beneath the silky Fifine in her lap.
+
+"No, no, Fifine! Down, sir!" murmured Missy absently.
+
+Poppy, otherwise immobile, blinked upward an inquiring gaze.
+
+"Naughty Fifine! You MUST not kiss my fingers, sir!"
+
+Poppy blinked again. Who might this invisible Fifine be? Her
+mistress was conversing in a very strange manner; and the strangest
+part of it was that she was looking straight into Poppy's own eyes.
+
+Poppy didn't know it, but her name was no longer Poppylinda. It was
+Fifine.
+
+That night Missy went to bed in her own little room in Cherryvale;
+but, strange as it may seem to you, she spent the hours till waking
+far across the sea, in a manor-house in baronial England.
+
+After that, for a considerable period, only the body, the husk of
+her, resided in Cherryvale; the spirit, the pulsing part of her, was
+in the land of her dreams. Events came and passed and left her
+unmarked. Even the Evans elopement brought no thrill; the affair of
+a youth who clerks in a bank and a girl who works in a post office
+is tame business to one who has been participating in the panoplied
+romances of the high-born.
+
+Missy lived, those days, to dream in solitude or to go to Tess's
+where she might read of further enchantments. Then, too, at Tess's,
+she had a confidante, a kindred spirit, and could speak out of what
+was filling her soul. There is nothing more satisfying than to be
+able to speak out of what is filling your soul. The two of them got
+to using a special parlance when alone. It was freely punctuated
+with phrases so wonderfully camouflaged that no Frenchman would have
+guessed that they were French.
+
+"Don't I hear the frou-frou of silken skirts?" inquired Missy one
+afternoon when she was in Tess's room, watching her friend comb the
+golden tresses which hung in rich profusion about her shoulders.
+
+"It's the mater," answered Tess. "She's dressed to pay some visits
+to the gentry. Later she's to dine at the vicarage. She's ordered
+out the trap, I believe."
+
+"Oh, not the governess-cart?"
+
+Yes, Tess said it WAS the governess-cart; and her answer was as
+solemn as Missy's question.
+
+It was that same "dinner" at the "vicarage"--in Cherryvale one dines
+at mid-day, and the Presbyterian minister blindly believed he had
+invited the O'Neills for supper--that gave Tess one of her most
+brilliant inspirations. It came to her quite suddenly, as all true
+inspirations do. The Marble Hearts would give a dinner-party!
+
+The Marble Hearts were Missy's "crowd," thus named after Tess had
+joined it. Of course, said Tess, they must have a name. A
+fascinating fount of ideas was Tess's. She declared, now, that they
+MUST give a dinner-party, a regular six o'clock function. Life for
+the younger set in Cherryvale was so bourgeois, so ennuye. It
+devolved upon herself and Missy to elevate it. So, at the next
+meeting of the crowd, they would broach the idea. Then they'd make
+all the plans; decide on the date and decorations and menu, and who
+would furnish what, and where the fete should be held. Perhaps
+Missy's house might be a good place. Yes. Missy's dining room was
+large, with the porch just outside the windows--a fine place for the
+orchestra.
+
+Missy listened eagerly to all the earlier features of the scheme--
+she knew Tess could carry any point with the crowd; but about the
+last suggestion she felt misgivings. Mother had very strange, old-
+fashioned notions about some things. She MIGHT be induced to let
+Missy help give an evening dinner-party, though she held that
+fifteen-year-old girls should have only afternoon parties; but to be
+persuaded to lend her own house for the affair--that would be an
+achievement even for Tess!
+
+However miracles continue to happen in this cut-and-dried world.
+When the subject was broached to Missy's mother with carefully
+considered tact, she bore up with puzzling but heavenly equanimity.
+She looked thoughtfully at the two girls in turn, and then gazed out
+the window.
+
+"A six o'clock dinner-party, you say?" she repeated, her eyes
+apparently fixed on the nasturtium bed.
+
+"Yes, Mrs. Merriam." It was Tess who answered. Missy's heart, an
+anxious lump in her throat, hindered speech.
+
+"For heaven's sake! What next?" ejaculated Aunt Nettie.
+
+Mrs. Merriam regarded the nasturtiums for a second longer before she
+brought her eyes back to the two young faces and broke the tense
+hush.
+
+"What made you think you wanted to give a dinner-party?"
+
+Oh, rapture! Missy's heart subsided an inch, and she drew a long
+breath. But she wisely let Tess do the replying.
+
+"Oh, everything in Cherryvale's so passe' and ennuye'. We want to do
+something novel--something really distingue'--if you know what I
+mean."
+
+"I believe I do," replied Mrs. Merriam gravely.
+
+"Dis-tinn-gwy!" repeated Aunt Nettie. "Well, if you ask me--" But
+Mrs. Merriam silenced her sister with an unobtrusive gesture. She
+turned to the two petitioners.
+
+"You think an evening dinner would be--distinngwy?"
+
+"Oh, yes--the way we've planned it out!" affirmed Tess. She, less
+diffident than Missy, was less reserved in her disclosures. She went
+on eagerly: "We've got it all planned out. Five courses: oyster
+cocktails; Waldorf salad; veal loaf, Saratoga chips, devilled eggs,
+dill pickles, mixed pickles, chow-chow and peach pickles: heavenly
+hash; and ice-cream with three kinds of cake. And small cups of
+demitasse, of course."
+
+"Three kinds of cake?"
+
+"Well," explained Tess, "you see Beula and Beth and Kitty all want
+cake for their share--they say their mothers won't be bothered with
+anything else. We're dividing the menu up between us, you know."
+
+"I see. And what have you allotted to Missy?"
+
+Missy herself found courage to answer this question; Mother's grave
+inquiries were bringing her intense relief.
+
+"I thought maybe I could furnish the heavenly hash, Mother."
+
+"Heavenly hash?" Mother looked perplexed. "What's that?"
+
+"I don't know," admitted Missy. "But I liked the name--it's so
+alluring. Beulah suggested it--I guess she knows the recipe."
+
+"I think it's all kinds of fruit chopped together," volunteered
+Tess.
+
+"But aren't you having a great deal of fruit--and pickles?"
+suggested Mrs. Merriam mildly.
+
+"Oh, well," explained Tess, rather grandly, "at a swell function you
+don't have to have many substantial viands, you know."
+
+"Oh, I nearly forgot--this is to be a swell function."
+
+"Yes, the real thing," said Tess proudly. "Potted palms and hand-
+painted place-cards and orchestra music and candle shades and
+everything!"
+
+"Candle shades?--won't it be daylight at six o'clock?"
+
+"Well, then, we'll pull down the window shades," said Tess,
+undisturbed. "Candle-light '11 add--"
+
+Aunt Nettie, who couldn't keep still any longer, cut in:
+
+"Will you tell me where you're going to get an orchestra?"
+
+"Oh," said Tess, with an air of patience, "we're going to fix the
+date on a band-practice night. I guess they'd be willing to practice
+on your porch if we gave them some ice-cream and cake."
+
+"My word!" gasped Aunt Nettie.
+
+"Music always adds so much e'clat to an affair," pursued Tess,
+unruffled.
+
+"The band practicing '11 add a-clatter, all right," commented Aunt
+Nettie, adding a syllable to Tess's triumphant word.
+
+Missy, visioning the seductive scene of Tess's description, did not
+notice her aunt's sarcasm.
+
+"If only we had a butler!" she murmured dreamily.
+
+Aunt Nettie made as if to speak again, but caught an almost
+imperceptible signal from her sister.
+
+"Surely, Mary," she began, "you don't mean to say you're--"
+
+Another almost imperceptible gesture.
+
+"Remember, Nettie, that when there's poison in the system, it is
+best to let it out as quickly as possible."
+
+What on earth was Mother talking about?
+
+But Missy was too thrilled by the leniency of her mother's attitude
+to linger on any side-question--anyway, grown-ups were always making
+incomprehensible remarks. She came back swiftly to the important
+issue.
+
+"And may we really have the party here, Mother?"
+
+Mother smiled at her, a rather funny kind of smile.
+
+"I guess so--the rest of us may as well have the benefit."
+
+What did Mother mean? . . .
+
+But oh, rapture!
+
+Tess and Missy wrote the invitations themselves and decided to
+deliver them in person, and Missy had no more prevision of all that
+decision meant than Juliet had when her mother concluded she would
+give the ball that Romeo butted in on.
+
+Tess said they must do it with empressement, meaning she would
+furnish an equipage for them to make their rounds in. Her father was
+a doctor, and had turned the old Smith place into a sanitarium; and,
+to use the Cherryvale word, he had several "rigs." However, when the
+eventful day for delivery arrived, Tess discovered that her father
+had disappeared with the buggy while her mother had "ordered out"
+the surrey to take some ladies to a meeting of the Missionary
+Society.
+
+That left only an anomalous vehicle, built somewhat on the lines of
+a victoria, in which Tim, "the coachman" (in Cherryvale argot known
+as "the hired man"), was wont to take convalescent patients for an
+airing. Tess realized the possible lack of dignity attendant upon
+having to sit in the driver's elevated seat; but she had no choice,
+and consoled herself by terming it "the box."
+
+A more serious difficulty presented itself in the matter of suitable
+steeds. One would have preferred a tandem of bright bays or, failing
+these, spirited ponies chafing at the bit and impatiently tossing
+their long, waving manes. But one could hardly call old Ben a steed
+at all, and he proved the only animal available that afternoon. Ben
+suffered from a disability of his right rear leg which caused him to
+raise his right haunch spasmodically when moving. The effect was
+rhythmic but grotesque, much as if Ben thought he was turkey-
+trotting. Otherwise, too, Ben was unlovely. His feet were by no
+means dainty, his coat was a dirty looking dappled-white, and his
+mane so attenuated it needed a toupee. As if appreciating his
+defects, Ben wore an apologetic, almost timid, expression of
+countenance, which greatly belied his true stubbornness of
+character.
+
+Not yet aware of the turn-out they must put up with, about two
+o'clock that afternoon Missy set out for Tess's house. She departed
+unobtrusively by the back door and side gate. The reason for this
+almost surreptitious leave-taking was in the package she carried
+under her arm. It held her mother's best black silk skirt, which
+boasted a "sweep"; a white waist of Aunt Nettie's; a piece of
+Chantilly lace which had once been draped on mother's skirt but was
+destined, to-day, to become a "mantilla"; and a magnificent "willow
+plume" snipped from Aunt Nettie's Sunday hat. This plume, when
+tacked to Missy's broad leghorn, was intended to be figuratively as
+well as literally the crowning feature of her costume.
+
+Tess, too, had made the most of her mother's absence at the
+Missionary Society. Unfortunately Mrs. O'Neill had worn her black
+silk skirt, but her blue dimity likewise boasted a "sweep." A
+bouquet of artificial poppies (plucked from a hat of "the mater's")
+added a touch of colour to Tess's corsage. And she, also, had
+acquired a "willow plume."
+
+Of course it was Tess who had thought to provide burnt matches and
+an extra poppy--artificial. The purpose of the former was to give a
+"shadowy look" under the eyes; of the latter, moistened, to lend a
+"rosy flush" to cheek and lip.
+
+Missy was at first averse to these unfamiliar aids to beauty.
+
+"Won't it make your face feel sort of queer--like it needed
+washing?" she demurred.
+
+"Don't talk like a bourgeois," said Tess.
+
+Missy applied the wet poppy.
+
+At the barn, "the coachman" was luckily absent, so Tess could
+harness up her steed without embarrassing questions. At the sight of
+the steed of the occasion, Missy's spirits for a moment sagged a
+bit; nor did old Ben present a more impressive appearance when,
+finally, he began to turkey-trot down Maple Avenue. His right haunch
+lifted--fell--lifted--fell, in irritating rhythm as his bulky feet
+clumped heavily on the macadam. Tess had insisted that Missy should
+occupy the driver's seat with her, though Missy wanted to recline
+luxuriously behind, perhaps going by home to pick up Poppy--that is,
+Fifine--to hold warm and perdu in her lap. But practical Tess
+pointed out that such an act might attract the attention of Mrs.
+Merriam and bring the adventure to an end. They proceeded down Maple
+Avenue. It was Tess's intention to turn off at Silver Street, to
+leave the first carte d'invitation at the home of Mr. Raymond
+Bonner. These documents were proudly scented (and incidentally
+spotted) from Mrs. O'Neill's cologne bottle.
+
+Young Mr. Bonner resided in one of the handsomest houses in
+Cherryvale, and was himself the handsomest boy in the crowd.
+Besides, he had more than once looked at Missy with soft eyes--the
+girls "teased" Missy about Raymond. It was fitting that Raymond
+should receive the first billet doux. So, at the corner of Maple and
+Silver, Tess pulled the rein which should have turned Ben into the
+shady street which led to Raymond's domicile. Ben moved his head
+impatiently, and turkey-trotted straight ahead. Tess pulled the rein
+more vigorously; Ben twitched his head still more like a swear word
+and, with a more pronounced shrug of his haunch, went undivertingly
+onward.
+
+"What's the matter?" asked Missy. "Is Ben a little--wild?"
+
+"No--I don't think so," replied Tess, but her tone was anxious. "I
+guess that it's just that he's used to Tim. Then I'm sort of out of
+practice driving."
+
+"Well, we can just as well stop at Lester's first, and come back by
+Raymond's."
+
+But when Tess attempted to manoeuvre Ben into Lester's street, Ben
+still showed an inalienable and masterful preference for Maple
+Avenue. Doggedly ahead he pursued his turkey-trotting course, un-
+mindful of tuggings, coaxings, or threats, till, suddenly, at the
+point where Maple runs into the Public Square, he made a turn into
+Main so abrupt as to send the inner rear wheel up onto the curb.
+
+"My!" gasped Missy, regaining her balance. "He IS wild, isn't he? Do
+you think, maybe--"
+
+She stopped suddenly. In front of the Post Office and staring at
+them was that new boy she had heard about--it must be he; hadn't
+Kitty Allen seen him and said he was a brunette? Even in her
+agitated state she could but notice that he was of an unusual
+appearance--striking. He somewhat resembled Archibald Chesney, one
+of airy fairy Lilian's suitors. Like Archibald, the stranger was
+tall and eminently gloomy in appearance. His hair was of a rare
+blackness; his eyes were dark--a little indolent, a good deal
+passionate--smouldering eyes! His eyebrows were arched, which gave
+him an air of melancholy protest against the world in general. His
+nose was of the high-and-mighty order that comes under the
+denomination of aquiline, or hooked, as may suit you best. However
+he did not shade his well-cut mouth with a heavy, drooping moustache
+as did Archibald, for which variation Missy was intensely grateful.
+Despite Lilian's evident taste for moustached gentlemen, Missy
+didn't admire these "hirsute adornments."
+
+She made all these detailed observations in the second before blond
+Raymond Bonner, handsomer but less interesting-looking than the
+stranger, came out of the Post Office, crying:
+
+"Hello, girls! What's up?--joined the circus?"
+
+This bantering tone, these words, were disconcerting. And before,
+during their relentless progress down Maple Avenue, the expressions
+of certain people sitting out on front porches or walking along the
+street, had occasioned uncertainty as to their unshadowed
+empressement. Still no doubts concerning her own personal get-up had
+clouded Missy's mind. And the dark Stranger was certainly regarding
+her with a look of interest in his indolent eyes. Almost you might
+say he was staring. It must be admiration of her toilette. She was
+glad she was looking so well--she wished he might hear the frou-frou
+of her silken skirt when she walked!
+
+The consciousness of her unusually attractive appearance made
+Missy's blood race intoxicatingly. It made her feel unwontedly
+daring. She did an unwontedly daring thing. She summoned her courage
+and returned the Strange Boy's stare--full. But she was embarrassed
+when she found herself looking away suddenly--blushing. Why couldn't
+she hold that gaze?--why must she blush? Had he noticed her lack of
+savoir-faire? More diffidently she peeped at him again to see
+whether he had. It seemed to her that his expression had altered. It
+was a subtle change; but, somehow, it made her blush again. And turn
+her eyes away again--more quickly than before. But there was a
+singing in her brain. The dark, interesting-looking Stranger LIKED
+her to look at him--LIKED her to blush and look away!
+
+She felt oddly light-headed--like someone unknown to herself. She
+wanted to laugh and chatter about she knew not what. She wanted to--
+
+But here certain external happenings cruelly grabbed her attention.
+Old Ben, who had seemed to slow down obligingly upon the girls'
+greeting of Raymond, had refused to heed Tess's tugging effort to
+bring him to a standstill. To be sure, he moved more slowly, but
+move he did, and determinedly; till--merciful heaven!--he came to a
+dead and purposeful halt in front of the saloon. Not "a saloon," but
+"the saloon!"
+
+Now, more frantically than she had urged him to pause, Tess implored
+Ben to proceed. No local standards are so hide-bound as those of a
+small town, and in Cherryvale it was not deemed decently
+permissible, but disgraceful, to have aught to do with liquor. "The
+saloon" was far from a "respectable" place even for men to visit;
+and for two girls to drive up openly--brazenly--
+
+"Get up, Ben! Get up!" rang an anguished duet.
+
+Missy reached over and helped wallop the rains. Oh, this pain!--this
+faintness! She now comprehended the feeling which had so often
+overcome the fair ladies of England when enmeshed in some frightful
+situation. They, on such upsetting occasions, had usually sunk back
+and murmured:
+
+"Please ring the bell--a glass of wine!" And Missy, while reading,
+had been able to vision herself, in some like quandary, also
+ordering a "glass of wine"; but, now! . . . the wine was only too
+terribly at hand!
+
+"Get up!--there's a good old Ben!"
+
+"Good old Ben--get up!"
+
+But he was not a good old Ben. He was a mean old Ben--mean with
+inborn, incredibly vicious stubbornness. How terrible to live to
+come to this! But Missy was about to learn what a tangled web Fate
+weaves, and how amazingly she deceives sometimes when life looks
+darkest. Raymond and the Stranger (Missy knew his name was Ed Brown;
+alas! but you can't have everything in this world) started forth to
+rescue at the same time, knocked into each other, got to Ben's head
+simultaneously, and together tugged and tugged at the bridle.
+
+Ben stood planted, with his four huge feet firmly set, defying any
+force in heaven or earth to budge them. His head, despite all the
+boys could do, maintained a relaxed attitude--a contradiction in
+terms justified by the facts--and also with a certain sidewise
+inclination toward the saloon. It was almost as if he were watching
+the saloon door. In truth, that is exactly what old Ben was doing.
+He was watching for Tim. Ben had good reason for knowing Tim's ways
+since, for a considerable time, no one save Tim had deigned to drive
+him. Besides having a natural tendency toward being "set in his
+ways," Ben had now reached the time of life when one, man or beast,
+is likely to become a creature of habit. Thus he had unswervingly
+followed Tim's route to Tim's invariable first halt; and now he
+stood waiting Tim's reappearance through the saloon door. Other
+volunteer assistants, in hordes, hordes, and laughing as if this
+awful calamity were a huge joke, had joined Raymond and the Other.
+Missy was flamingly aware of them, of their laughter, their stares,
+their jocular comments.
+
+But they all achieved nothing; and relief came only when Ben's
+supreme faith was rewarded when Tim, who had been spending his
+afternoon off in his favourite club, was attracted from his checker-
+game in the "back room" by some hubbub in the street and came
+inquisitively to the front door.
+
+Ben, then, pricked his ears and showed entire willingness to depart.
+Tim, after convincing himself that he wasn't drunk and "seeing
+things," climbed up on the "box"; the two girls, "naturally covered
+with confusion," were only too glad to sink down unobtrusively into
+the back seat. Not till they were at the sanitarium again, did they
+remember the undelivered invitations; but quickly they agreed to put
+on stamps and let Tim take them, without empressement, to the Post
+Office.
+
+All afternoon Missy burned and chilled in turn. Oh, it was too
+dreadful! What would people say? What would her parents, should they
+hear, do? And what, oh what would the interesting-looking Stranger
+think? Oh, what a contretemps!
+
+If she could have heard what the Stranger actually did say, she
+would still have been "covered with confusion"--though of a more
+pleasurable kind. He and Raymond were become familiar acquaintances
+by this time. "What's the matter with 'em?" he had inquired as the
+steed Ben turkey-trotted away. "Doing it on a bet or something?"
+
+"Dunno," replied Raymond. "The blonde one's sort of bughouse,
+anyway. And the other one, Missy Merriam, gets sorta queer streaks
+sometimes--you don't know just what's eating her. She's sorta funny,
+but she's a peach, all right."
+
+"She the one with the eyes?"
+
+Raymond suddenly turned and stared at the new fellow.
+
+"Yes," he assented, almost reluctantly.
+
+"Some eyes!" commented the other, gazing after the vanishing
+equipage.
+
+Raymond looked none too pleased. But it was too late, now, to spike
+Fate's spinning wheel. Missy was terribly cast down by the
+afternoon's history; but not so cast down that she had lost sight of
+the obligation to invite to her dinner a boy who had rescued her--
+anyhow, he had tried to rescue her, and that was the same thing. So
+a carte must be issued to "Mr. Ed Brown." After all, what's in a
+name?--hadn't Shakespeare himself said that?
+
+At supper, Missy didn't enjoy her meal. Had father or mother heard?
+Once she got a shock: she glanced up suddenly and caught father's
+eyes on her with a curious expression. For a second she was sure he
+knew; but he said nothing, only looked down again and went on eating
+his chop.
+
+That evening mother suggested that Missy go to bed early. "You
+didn't eat your supper, and you look tired out," she explained.
+
+Missy did feel tired--terribly tired; but she wouldn't have admitted
+it, for fear of being asked the reason. Did mother, perhaps, know?
+Missy had a teasing sense that, under the placid, commonplace
+conversation, there was something unspoken. A curious and
+uncomfortable feeling. But, then, as one ascertains increasingly
+with every year one lives, Life is filled with curious and often
+uncomfortable feelings. Which, however, one would hardly change if
+one could, because all these things make Life so much more complex,
+therefore more interesting. The case of Ben was in point: if he had
+not "cut up," it might have been weeks before she got acquainted
+with the Dark Stranger!
+
+Still pondering these "deep" things, Missy took advantage of her
+mother's suggestion and went up to undress. She was glad of the
+chance to be alone.
+
+But she wasn't to be alone for yet a while. Her mother followed her
+and insisted on helping unfasten her dress, turning down her bed,
+bringing some witch-hazel to bathe her forehead--a dozen little
+pretexts to linger. Mother did not always perform these offices.
+Surely she must suspect. Yet, if she did suspect, why her kindness?
+Why didn't she speak out, and demand explanations?
+
+Mothers are sometimes so mystifying!
+
+The time for the good night kiss came and went with no revealing
+word from either side. The kiss was unusually tender, given and
+received. Left alone at last, on her little, moon-whitened bed,
+Missy reflected on her great fondness for her mother. No; she
+wouldn't exchange her dear mother, not even for the most
+aristocratic lady in England.
+
+Then, as the moon worked its magic on her fluttering lids, the
+flowered wall-paper, the bird's-eye maple furniture, all dissolved
+in air, and in their place magically stood, faded yet rich, lounges
+and chairs of velvet; priceless statuettes; a few bits of bric-a-
+brac worth their weight in gold; several portraits of beauties well-
+known in the London and Paris worlds, frail as they were fair, false
+as they were piquante; tobacco-stands and meerschaum pipes and
+cigarette-holders; a couple of dogs snoozing peacefully upon the
+hearth-rug; a writing-table near the blazing grate and, seated
+before it--
+
+Yes! It was he! Though the room was Archibald Chesney's "den," the
+seated figure was none other than Ed Brown! . . .
+
+A shadow falls across the paper on which he is writing--he glances
+up--beholds an airy fairy vision regarding him with a saucy smile--a
+slight graceful creature clothed in shell-pink with daintiest lace
+frillings at the throat and wrists, and with a wealth of nut-brown
+locks brought low on her white brow, letting only the great grey
+eyes shine out.
+
+"What are you writing, sir?" she demands, sending him a bewitching
+glance.
+
+"Only a response to your gracious invitation, Lady Melissa," he
+replies, springing up to kiss her tapering fingers. . . The moon
+seals the closed eyelids down with a kiss.
+
+
+The day of days arrived.
+
+Missy got up while the rest of the household was still sleeping. For
+once she did not wait for Poppy's kiss to awaken her. The empty bed
+surprised and disconcerted Poppy--that is, Fifine--upon her
+appearance. But much, these days, was happening to surprise and
+disconcert Poppy--that is, Fifine.
+
+Fifine finally located her mistress down in the back parlour,
+occupied with shears and a heap of old magazines. Missy was clipping
+sketches from certain advertisements, which she might trace upon
+cardboard squares and decorate with water-colour. These were to be
+the "place-cards"--an artistic commission Missy had put off from day
+to day till, now, at the last minute, she was constrained to rise
+early, with a rushed and remorseful feeling. A situation familiar to
+many artists.
+
+She succeeded in concentrating herself upon the work with the
+greatest difficulty. For, after breakfast, there began a great
+bustling with brooms and carpet-sweepers and dusters; and, no sooner
+was the house swept than appeared a gay and chattering swarm to
+garnish it: "Marble Hearts" with collected "potted palms" and "cut
+flowers" and cheesecloth draperies of blue and gold--the "club
+colours" which, upon the sudden need for club colours, had been
+suddenly adopted.
+
+Missy betook herself to her room, but it was filled up with two of
+the girls and a bolt of cheesecloth; to the dining room, but there
+was no inspiration in the sight of Marguerite polishing the spare
+silver; to the side porch, but one cannot work where giggling girls
+sway and shriek on tall ladders, hanging paper-lanterns; to the
+summerhouse, but even to this refuge the Baby followed her, finally
+upsetting the water-colour box.
+
+The day went rushing past. Enticing odours arose from the kitchen.
+The grocery wagon came, and came again. The girls went home. A
+sketchy lunch was eaten off the kitchen table, and father stayed
+down town. The girls reappeared. They overran the kitchen, peeling
+oranges and pineapples and bananas for "heavenly hash." Marguerite
+grew cross. The Baby, who missed his nap, grew cross. And Missy, for
+some reason, grew sort of cross, too; she resented the other girls'
+unrestrainable hilarity. They wouldn't be so hilarious if it were
+their own households they were setting topsy-turvy; if they had
+sixteen "place-cards" yet to finish. In England, the hostess's
+entertainments went more smoothly. Things were better arranged
+there.
+
+Gradually the girls drifted home to dress; the house grew quiet.
+Missy's head was aching. Flushed and paint-daubed, she bent over the
+"place-cards."
+
+Mother came to the door.
+
+"Hadn't you better be getting dressed, dear?--it's half-past five."
+
+Half-past five! Heavens! Missy bent more feverishly over the "place-
+cards"; there were still two left to colour.
+
+"I'll lay out your dotted Swiss for you," offered mother kindly.
+
+At this mention of her "best dress," Missy found time for a pang of
+vain desire. She wished she had a more befitting dinner gown. A
+black velvet, perhaps; a "picture dress" with rare old lace, and no
+other adornment save diamonds in her hair and ears and round her
+throat and wrists.
+
+But, then, velvet might be too hot for August. She visioned herself
+in an airy creation of batiste--very simple, but the colour
+combination a ravishing mingling of palest pink and baby-blue, with
+ribbons fluttering; delicately tinted long gloves; delicately tinted
+slippers and silken stockings on her slender, high-arched feet; a
+few glittering rings on her restless fingers; one blush-pink rose in
+her hair which, simply arranged, suffered two or three stray
+rippling locks to wander wantonly across her forehead.
+
+"Missy! It's ten minutes to six! And you haven't even combed your
+hair!" It was mother at the door again.
+
+The first guest arrived before Missy had got her hair "smoothed up"-
+-no time, tonight, to try any rippling, wanton effects. She could
+hear the swelling sound of voices and laughter in the distance--oh,
+dreadful! Her fingers became all thumbs as she sought to get into
+the dotted swiss, upside down.
+
+Mother came in just in time to extricate her, and buttoned the dress
+with maddeningly deliberate fingers.
+
+"Now, don't fret yourself into a headache, dear," she said in a
+voice meant to be soothing. "The party won't run away--just let
+yourself relax."
+
+Relax!
+
+The musicians, out on the side porch, were already beginning their
+blaring preparations when the hostess, at last, ran down the stairs
+and into the front parlour. Her agitation had no chance to subside
+before they must file out to the dining room. Missy hadn't had time
+before to view the completely embellished dining room and, now, in
+all its glory and grandeur, it struck her full force: the potted
+palms screening the windows through which floated strains of music,
+streamers of blue and gold stretching from the chandelier to the
+four corners of the room in a sort of canopy, the long white table
+with its flowers and gleaming silver--
+
+It might almost have been the scene of a function at Chetwoode Manor
+itself!
+
+In a kind of dream she was wafted to the head of the table; for,
+since the function was at her house, Missy had been voted the
+presiding place of honour. It is a very great responsibility to sit
+in the presiding place of honour. From that conspicuous position one
+leads the whole table's activities: conversing to the right,
+laughing to the left, sharply on the lookout for any conversational
+gap, now and then drawing muted tete-a-tetes into a harmonic unison.
+She is, as it were, the leader of an orchestra of which the
+individual diners are the subsidiary instruments. Upon her watchful
+resourcefulness hangs the success of a dinner-party. But Missy,
+though a trifle fluttered, had felt no anxiety; she knew so well
+just how Lady Chetwoode had managed these things.
+
+The hostess must also, of course, direct the nutrimental as well as
+the conversational process of the feast. She is served first, and
+takes exactly the proper amount of whatever viand in exactly the
+proper way and manipulates it with exactly the proper fork or knife
+or spoon. But Missy had felt no anticipatory qualms.
+
+She was possessed of a strange, almost a lightheaded feeling.
+Perhaps the excitement of the day, the rush at the last, had
+something to do with it. Perhaps the spectacle of the long, adorned
+table, the scent of flowers, the sound of music, the dark eyes of
+Mr. Edward Brown who was seated at her right hand.
+
+(Dear old faithful Ben!--to think of how his devotion to tippling
+Tim had brought Edward Brown into her life!)
+
+She felt a stranger to herself. Something in her soared
+intoxicatingly. The sound of her own gay chatter came to her from
+afar--as from a stranger. Mr. Brown kept on looking at her.
+
+The butler appeared, bringing the oyster cocktails (a genteel
+delicacy possible in an inland midsummer thanks to the canning
+industry), and proceeded to serve them with empressement.
+
+The butler was really the climactic triumph of the event. And he was
+Missy's own inspiration. She had been racking her brains for some
+way to eliminate the undistinguished Marguerite, to conjure through
+the very strength of her desire some approach to a proper servitor.
+If only they had ONE of those estimable beings in Cherry vale! A
+butler, preferably elderly, and "steeped in respectability" up to
+his port-wine nose; one who would hover around the table, adjusting
+this dish affectionately and straightening that, and who, whenever
+he left the room, left it with a velvet step and an almost inaudible
+sigh of satisfaction . . .
+
+And then, quite suddenly, she had hit upon the idea of "Snowball"
+Saunders. Snowball had come to the house to borrow the Merriams'
+ice-cream freezer. There was to be an informal "repast" at the
+Shriners' hall, and Snowball engineered all the Shriners' gustatory
+festivities from "repasts" to "banquets." Sometimes, at the
+banquets, he even wore a dress suit. It was of uncertain lineage and
+too-certain present estate, yet it was a dress suit. It was the
+recollection of the dress suit that had given Missy her inspiration.
+To be sure, in England, butlers were seldom "coloured," but in
+Cherry vale one had to make some concessions.
+
+The butler was wearing his dress suit as he came bearing the oyster
+cocktails.
+
+"Hello, Snowball!" greeted Raymond Bonner, genially. "Didn't know
+you were invited to-night."
+
+Snowball!? what a gosherie! With deliberate hauteur Missy spoke:
+
+"Oh, Saunders, don't forget to fill the glasses with ice-water."
+
+Raymond cast her an astonished look, but, perhaps because he was
+more impressed by the formality of the function than he would have
+admitted, refrained from any bantering comment.
+
+The hostess, then, with a certain righteous complacence, lowered her
+eyes to her cocktail glass.
+
+Oh, heavens!
+
+It was the first time, so carried away had she been with this new,
+intoxicating feeling, that she had really noticed what she was
+eating--how she was eating it.
+
+She was eating her oysters with her after-dinner coffee spoon!
+
+The tiny-pronged oyster fork was lying there on the cloth,
+untouched!
+
+Oh, good heavens!
+
+An icy chill of mortification crept down her spine, spread out
+through her whole being. She had made a mistake--SHE, the hostess!
+
+A whirlwind of mortal shame stormed round and round within her. If
+only she could faint dead away in her chair! If only she could weep,
+and summon mother! Or die! Or even if she could sink down under the
+table and hide away from sight. But she didn't know how to faint;
+and hostesses do not weep for their mothers; and, in real life,
+people never die at the crucial moments; nor do they crawl under
+tables. All she could do was to force herself. at last, to raise her
+stricken eyelids and furtively regard her guests.
+
+Oh, dear heaven!
+
+They were all--ALL of them--eating their oyster cocktails with their
+after-dinner coffee spoons!
+
+Missy didn't know why, at that sight, she had to fight off a spasm
+of laughter. She felt she must scream out in laughter, or die.
+
+All at once she realized that Mr. Brown was speaking to her.
+
+"What's the matter?" he was saying. "Want to sneeze?"
+
+That struck her so funny that she laughed; and then she felt better.
+
+"I was just terribly upset," she found herself explaining almost
+naturally, "because I suddenly found myself eating the oyster
+cocktail with the coffee spoon."
+
+"Oh, isn't this the right implement?" queried Mr. Brown,
+contemplating his spoon. "Well, if you ask ME, I'm glad you started
+off with it--this soupy stuff'd be the mischief to get away with
+with a fork."
+
+Archibald Chesney wouldn't have talked that way. But, nevertheless,
+Missy let her eyelids lift up at him in a smile.
+
+"I'm glad you didn't know it was a mistake," she murmured. "I was
+TERRIBLY mortified."
+
+"Girls are funny," Mr. Brown replied to that. "Always worrying over
+nothing." He returned her smile. "But YOU needn't ever worry."
+
+What did he mean by that? But something in his dark eyes, gazing at
+her full, kept Missy from asking the question, made her swiftly
+lower her lashes.
+
+"I bet YOU could start eating with a toothpick and get away with
+it," he went on.
+
+Did he mean her social savoir-faire--or did he mean--
+
+Just then the butler appeared at her left hand to remove the
+cocktail course. She felt emboldened to remark, with an air of ease:
+
+"Oh, Saunders, don't forget to lay the spoons when you serve the
+demi-tasses."
+
+Mr. Brown laughed.
+
+"Oh, say!" he chortled, "you ARE funny when you hand out that
+highfalutin stuff!"
+
+No; he surely hadn't meant admiration for her savoir-faire; yet, for
+some reason, Missy didn't feel disappointed. She blushed, and found
+it entrancingly difficult to lift her eyelids.
+
+The function, rather stiffly and quite impressively, continued its
+way without further contretemps. It was, according to the most
+aristocratic standards, highly successful. To be sure, after the
+guests had filed solemnly from the table and began to dance on the
+porches, something of the empressement died away; but Missy was
+finding Mr. Brown too good a dancer to remember to be critical. She
+forgot altogether, now, to compare him with the admired Archibald.
+
+Missy danced with Mr. Brown so much that Raymond Bonner grew openly
+sulky. Missy liked Raymond, and she was sure she would never want to
+do anything unkind--yet why, at the obvious ill temper of Raymond
+Bonner, did she feel a strange little delicious thrill?
+
+Oh, she was having a glorious time!
+
+Once she ran across father, lurking unobtrusively in a shadowed
+corner.
+
+"Well," he remarked, "I see that Missy's come back for a breathing-
+spell."
+
+Just what did father mean by that?
+
+But she was having too good a time to wonder long. Too good a time
+to remember whether or not it was in the baronial spirit. She was
+entirely uncritical when, the time for good nights finally at hand,
+Mr. Brown said to her:
+
+"Well, a fine time was had by all! I guess I "don't have to tell YOU
+that--what?"
+
+Archibald Chesney would never have put it that way. Yet Missy, with
+Mr. Brown's eyes upon her in an openly admiring gaze, wouldn't have
+had him changed one bit.
+
+But, when at last sleep came to her in her little white bed, on the
+silvery tide of the moon, it carried a dream to slip up under the
+tight-closed eyes. . .
+
+The ball is at its height. The door of the conservatory opens and a
+fair young creature steals in. She is fairer than the flowers
+themselves as, with a pretty consciousness of her own grace, she
+advances into the bower. Her throat is fair and rounded under the
+diamonds that are no brighter than her own great grey eyes; her nut-
+brown locks lie in heavy masses on her well-shaped head, while
+across her forehead a few rebellious tresses wantonly wander.
+
+She suddenly sees in the shadows that other figure which has started
+perceptibly at her entrance; a tall and eminently gloomy figure,
+with hair of a rare blackness, and eyes dark and insouciant but
+admiring withal.
+
+With a silken frou-frou she glides toward him, happy and radiant,
+for she is in her airiest mood tonight.
+
+"Is not my dress charming, Mr. Brown?" she cries with charming
+naivete. "Does it not become me?"
+
+"It is as lovely as its wearer," replied the other, with a
+suppressed sigh.
+
+"Pouf! What a simile! Who dares compare me with a paltry gown?"
+
+Then, laughing at his discomfiture, the coquette, with slow
+nonchalance, gathers up her long train.
+
+"But I'll forgive you--this once," she concedes, "for there is
+positively no one to take poor little me back to the ballroom."
+
+And Lady Melissa slips her hand beneath Mr. Brown's arm, and glances
+up at him with laughing, friendly eyes. . .
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+INFLUENCING ARTHUR
+
+
+No one in Cherryvale ever got a word from Melissa about the true
+inwardness of the spiritual renaissance she experienced the winter
+that the Reverend MacGill came to the Methodist church; naturally
+not her father nor mother nor Aunt Nettie, because grown-ups, though
+nice and well-meaning, with their inability to "understand," and
+their tendency to laugh make one feel shy and reticent about the
+really deep and vital things. And not even Tess O'Neill, Missy's
+chum that year, a lively, ingenious, and wonderful girl, was in this
+case clever enough to obtain complete confidence.
+
+Once before Missy had felt the flame divine--a deep, vague kind of
+glow all subtly mixed up with "One Sweetly Solemn Thought" and such
+slow, stirring, minor harmonies, and with sunlight stealing through
+the stained-glass window above the pulpit in colourful beauty that
+pierced to her very soul. But that was a long time ago, when she was
+a little thing--only ten. Now she was nearly sixteen. Things were
+different. One now was conscious of the reality of inward
+inexperiences: these must influence life--one's own and, haply, the
+lives of others. What Missy did not emphasize in her mind was the
+mystery of how piety evolved from white fox furs and white fox furs
+finally evolved from piety. But she did perceive that it would be
+hopeless to try to explain her motives about Arthur as mixed up with
+the acquisition of the white fox furs. . . No; not even Tess O'Neill
+could have grasped the true inwardness of it all.
+
+It all began, as nearly as one could fix on a concrete beginning,
+with Genevieve Hicks's receiving a set of white fox furs for
+Christmas. The furs were soft and silky and luxurious, and Genevieve
+might well have been excused for wearing them rather triumphantly.
+Missy wasn't at all envious by nature and she tried to be fair-
+minded in this case, but she couldn't help begrudging Genevieve her
+regal air.
+
+Genevieve had paraded her becoming new finery past the Merriam
+residence on several Sunday afternoons, but this wasn't the entire
+crux of Missy's discontent. Genevieve and the white fox furs were
+escorted by Arthur Summers.
+
+Now, Arthur had more than once asked Missy herself to "go walking"
+on Sunday afternoons. But Mrs. Merriam had said Missy was too young
+for such things. And when Missy, in rebuttal, once pointed out the
+promenading Genevieve, Mrs. Merriam had only replied that
+Genevieve's mother ought to know better--that Genevieve was a
+frivolous-minded girl, anyway.
+
+Missy, peering through the parlour lace curtains, made no answer;
+but she thought: "Bother! Everybody can go walking but me!"
+
+Then she thought:
+
+"She's laughing awful loud. She is frivolous-minded."
+
+Then:
+
+"He looks as if he's having a good time, too; he's laughing back
+straight at her. I wonder if he thinks she's very pretty."
+
+And then:
+
+"I wish I had some white fox furs."
+
+That evening at the supper-table Missy voiced her desire. There were
+just the four of them at the table--father, mother, Aunt Nettie and
+herself. Missy sat silent, listening to the talk of the grownups;
+but their voices floated to her as detached, far-off sounds, because
+she was engrossed in looking at a mental picture; a red-haired,
+laughing, admiring-eyed boy walking along beside a girl in white fox
+furs--and the girl was not Genevieve Hicks. The delights of the
+vision must have reflected in her face because finally her father
+said:
+
+"Well, Missy, what's all the smiling about?"
+
+Missy blushed as if she'd been caught in mischief; but she answered,
+wistfully rather than hopefully:
+
+"I was just thinking how nice it would be if I had some white fox
+furs."
+
+"For heaven's sake!" commented mother. "When you've already got a
+new set not two months old!"
+
+Missy didn't reply to that; she didn't want to seem unappreciative.
+It was true she had a new set, warm and serviceable, but--well, a
+short-haired, dark-brown collarette hasn't the allure of a fluffy,
+snow-white boa.
+
+Mother was going on: "That ought to do you two winters at least--if
+not three."
+
+"I don't know what the present generation is coming to," put in Aunt
+Nettie with what seemed to Missy entire irrelevance. Aunt Nettie was
+a spinster, even older than Missy's mother, and her lack of
+understanding and her tendency to criticize and to laugh was
+especially dreaded by her niece.
+
+"Nowadays girls still in knee-skirts expect to dress and act like
+society belles!"
+
+"I wasn't expecting the white fox furs," said Missy defensively. "I
+was just thinking how nice it would be to have them." She was silent
+a moment, then added: "I think if I had some white fox furs I'd be
+the happiest person in the world."
+
+"That doesn't strike me as such a large order for complete
+happiness," observed father, smiling at her.
+
+Missy smiled back at him. In another these words might have savoured
+of irony, but Missy feared irony from her father less than from any
+other old person.
+
+Father was a big, silent man but he was always kind and particularly
+lovable; and he "understood" better than most "old people."
+
+"What is the special merit of these white fox furs?" he went on, and
+something in the indulgent quality of his tone, something in the
+expression of his eyes, made hope stir timidly to birth in her bosom
+and rise to shine from her eyes.
+
+But before she could answer, mother spoke. "I can tell you that.
+That flighty Hicks girl went by here this afternoon wearing some.
+That Summers boy who clerks in Pieker's grocery was with her. He
+once wanted Missy to go walking with him and I had to put my foot
+down. She doesn't seem to realize she's too young for such things.
+Her brown furs will do her for this season--and next season too!"
+
+Mother put on a stern, determined kind of look, almost hard. Into
+the life of every woman who is a mother there comes a time when she
+learns, suddenly, that her little girl is trying not to be a little
+girl any longer but to become a woman. It is a hard moment for
+mothers, and no wonder that they seem unwarrantedly adamantine. Mrs.
+Merriam instinctively knew that wanting furs and wanting boys
+spelled the same evil. But Missy, who was fifteen instead of thirty-
+seven and whose emotions and desires were still as hazy and
+uncorrelated as they were acute, stared with bewildered hurt at this
+unjust harshness in her usually kind parent.
+
+ Then she turned large, pleading eyes upon her father; he had shown
+a dawning interest in the subject of white fox furs. But Mr.
+Merriam, now, seemed to have lost the issue of furs in the newer
+issue of boys.
+
+"What's this about the Summers boy?" he demanded. "It's the first
+I've ever heard of this business."
+
+"He only wanted me to go walking, father. All the rest of the girls
+go walking with boys." "Indeed! Well, you won't. Nor for a good many
+years!"
+
+Such unexpected shortness and sharpness from father made her feel
+suddenly wretched; he was even worse than mother.
+
+"Who is he, anyway?" he exploded further.
+
+Missy's lips were twitching inexplicably; she feared to essay
+speech, but it was mother who answered.
+
+"He's that red-headed boy who clerks in Pieker's grocery."
+
+"Arthur's a nice boy," Missy then attempted courageously. "I don't
+think he ought to be blamed just because he's poor and--"
+
+Her defence ended ignominiously in a choking sound. She wasn't one
+who cried easily and this unexpected outburst amazed herself; she
+could not, to have saved her life, have told why she cried.
+
+Her father reached over and patted her hand.
+
+"I'm not blaming him because he's poor, daughter. It's just that I
+don't want you to start thinking about the boys for a long while
+yet. Not about Arthur or any other boy. You're just a little girl."
+
+Missy knew very well that she was not "just a little girl," but she
+knew, too, that parents nourish many absurd ideas. And though father
+was now absurd, she couldn't help feeling tender toward him when he
+called her "daughter" in that gentle tone. So, sighing a secret
+little sigh, she smiled back at him a misty smile which he took for
+comprehension and a promise. The subject of white fox furs seemed
+closed; Missy was reluctant to re-open it because, in some
+intangible way, it seemed bound up with the rather awkward subject
+of Arthur.
+
+After supper father conversed with her about a piece she was reading
+in the Sunday Supplement, and seemed anxious to make her feel happy
+and contented. So softened was he that, when Tess telephoned and
+invited Missy to accompany the O'Neill family to the Methodist
+church that evening, he lent permission to the unusual excursion.
+
+The unusualness of it--the Merriams performed their Sabbath
+devotions at 11 A.M.--served to give Missy a greater thrill than
+usually attends going to church. Besides, since the Merriams were
+Presbyterians, going to the Methodist church held a certain novelty-
+-savouring of entertainment--and diversion from the same old
+congregation, the same old church choir, and the same old preacher.
+In literal truth, also, the new Methodist preacher was not old; he
+was quite young. Missy had already heard reports of him. Some of the
+Methodist girls declared that though ugly he was perfectly
+fascinating; and grandpa and grandma Merriam, who were Methodists
+(as had been her own father before he married mother, a
+Presbyterian), granted that he was human as well as inspired.
+
+As Missy entered the Methodist church that evening with the
+O'Neills, it didn't occur to her memory that it was in this very
+edifice she had once felt the flame divine. It was once when her
+mother was away visiting and her less rigidly strict grandparents
+had let her stay up evenings and attend revival meetings with them.
+But all that had happened long ago--five years ago, when she was a
+little thing of ten. One forgets much in five years. So she felt no
+stir of memory and no presentiment of a coincidence to come.
+
+Reverend MacGill, the new minister, at first disappointed her. He
+was tall and gaunt; and his face was long and gaunt, lighted with
+deep-set, smouldering, dark eyes and topped with an unruly thatch of
+dark hair. Missy thought him terribly ugly until he smiled, and then
+she wasn't quite so sure. As the sermon went on and his harsh but
+flexible voice mounted, now and then, to an impassioned height, she
+would feel herself mounting with it; then when it fell again to
+calmness, she would feel herself falling, too. She understood why
+grandma called him "inspired." And once when his smile, on one of
+its sudden flashes from out that dark gauntness of his face, seemed
+aimed directly at her she felt a quick, responsive, electric thrill.
+The Methodist girls were right--he was fascinating.
+
+She didn't wait until after the service to express her approbation
+to Tess--anyway, to a fifteen-year-old surreptitiousness seems to
+add zest to any communication. She tore a corner from the hymnal
+fly-leaf and scribbled her verdict while the elder O'Neills and most
+of the old people were kneeling in prayer. Assuring herself that all
+nearby heads to be dreaded were reverentially bent, she passed the
+missive. As she did so she chanced to glance up toward the minister.
+
+Oh, dear heaven! He was looking straight down at her. He had seen
+her--the O'Neill pew was only three rows back. It was too awful.
+What would he think of her? An agony of embarrassment and shame
+swept over her.
+
+And then--could she believe her eyes?--right in the midst of his
+prayer, his harshly melodious voice rising and falling with never a
+break--the Reverend MacGill smiled. Smiled straight at her--there
+could be no mistake. And a knowing, sympathetic, understanding kind
+of smile! Yes, he was human.
+
+She liked him better than she had ever thought it possible to like a
+minister--especially an ugly one, and one whom she'd never "met."
+
+But after service she "met" him at the door, where he was standing
+to shake hands with the departing worshippers. As Mrs. O'Neill
+introduced her, rather unhappily, as "one of Tess's little friends,"
+he flashed her another smile which said, quite plainly: "I saw you
+up to your pranks, young lady!" But it was not until after Dr. and
+Mrs. O'Neill had passed on that he said aloud: "That was all right--
+all I ask is that you don't look so innocent when your hands are at
+mischief."
+
+Oh, she adored his smile!
+
+The following Sunday evening she was invited to the O'Neills' for
+supper, and the Reverend MacGill was invited too. The knowledge of
+this interesting meeting impending made it possible for her to view
+Genevieve and Arthur, again out on a Sunday afternoon stroll, with a
+certain equanimity. Genevieve, though very striking and vivacious in
+her white fox, was indubitably a frivolous-minded girl; she, Missy,
+was going to eat supper with the Reverend MacGill. Of course white
+fox furs were nice, and Arthur's eyelashes curled up in an
+attractive way, but there are higher, more ennobling things in life.
+
+The Reverend MacGill did not prove disappointing on closer
+acquaintance. Grandpa said he knew everything there is to know about
+the Bible, but the Reverend MacGill did not talk about it. In a way
+this was a pity, as his talk might have been instructive, but he got
+Tess and Missy to talking about themselves instead. Not in the way
+that makes you feel uncomfortable, as many older people do, but just
+easy, chatty, laughing comradeship. You could talk to him almost as
+though he were a boy of the "crowd."
+
+It developed that the Reverend MacGill was planning a revival. He
+said he hoped that Tess and Missy would persuade all their young
+friends to attend. As Missy agreed to ally herself with his crusade,
+she felt a sort of lofty zeal glow up in her. It was a pleasantly
+superior kind of feeling. If one can't be fashionable and frivolous
+one can still be pious.
+
+In this noble missionary spirit she managed to be in the kitchen the
+next time Arthur delivered the groceries from Pieker's. She asked
+him to attend the opening session of the revival the following
+Sunday night. Arthur blushed and stammered a little, so that, since
+Arthur wasn't given to embarrassment, Missy at once surmised he had
+a "date." Trying for an impersonal yet urbane and hospitable manner,
+she added:
+
+"Of course if you have an engagement, we hope you'll feel free to
+bring any of your friends with you."
+
+"Well," admitted Arthur, "you see the fact is I HAVE got a kind of
+date. Of course if I'd KNOWN--"
+
+"Oh, that's all right," she cut in with magnificent ease." I wasn't
+asking you to go with me. Reverend MacGill just appointed me on a
+kind of informal committee, you know--I'm asking Raymond Bonner and
+all the boys of the crowd."
+
+"You needn't rub it in--I get you. Swell chance of YOU ever wanting
+to make a date!"
+
+His sulkiness of tone, for some reason, gratified her. Her own
+became even more gracious as she said again: "We hope you can come.
+And bring any of your friends you wish."
+
+She was much pleased with this sustained anonymity she had given
+Genevieve.
+
+When the opening night of the Methodist revival arrived, most of the
+"crowd" might have been seen grouped together in one of the rearmost
+pews of the church. Arthur and Genevieve were there, Genevieve in
+her white fox furs, of course. She was giggling and making eyes as
+if she were at a party or a movie show instead of in church. Missy--
+who had had to do a great deal of arguing in order to be present
+with her, so to speak, guests--preserved a calm, sweet, religious
+manner; it was far too relentlessly Christian to take note of
+waywardness. But the way she hung on the words of the minister,
+joined in song, bowed her head in prayer, should have been rebuke
+enough to any light conduct. It did seem to impress Arthur; for,
+looking at her uplifted face and shining eyes, as in her high, sweet
+treble, she sang, "Throw Out the Life-Line," he lost the point of
+one of Genevieve's impromptu jokes and failed to laugh in the right
+place. Genevieve noticed his lapse. She also noticed the reason. She
+herself was not a whit impressed by Missy's devotions, but she was
+unduly quiet for several minutes. Then she stealthily tore a bit of
+leaf from her hymnal--the very page on which she and other frail
+mortals were adjured to throw out life-lines--and began to fashion
+it into a paper-wad.
+
+The service had now reached the stage of prayer for repentant
+sinners. Reverend MacGill was doing the praying, but members of the
+congregation were interjecting, "Glory Hallelujah!" "Praise be His
+Name!" and the other worshipful ejaculations which make a sort of
+running accompaniment on such occasions. Missy thought the
+interruptions, though proper and lending an atmosphere of fervour,
+rather a pity because they spoiled the effective rise and fall of
+the minister's voice. There was one recurrent nasal falsetto which
+especially threw you off the religious track. It belonged to old
+Mrs. Lemon. Everybody knew she nagged at and overworked and half-
+starved that ragged little Sims orphan she'd adopted, but here she
+was making the biggest noise of all!
+
+However, much as she wished old Mrs. Lemon to stop, Missy could not
+approve of what she, just then, saw take place in her own pew.
+
+Genevieve was whispering and giggling again. Missy turned to look.
+Genevieve pressed a paper-wad into Arthur's hand, whispered and
+giggled some more. And then, to Missy's horror, Arthur took
+surreptitious but careful aim with the wad. It landed squarely on
+old Mrs. Lemon's ear, causing a "Blessed be the Lo--" to part midway
+in scandalized astonishment. Missy herself was scandalized. Of
+course old Mrs. Lemon was a hypocrite--but to be hit on the ear
+while the name of the Saviour was on her lips! Right on the ear!
+Missy couldn't help mentally noting Arthur's fine marksmanship, but
+she felt it her duty to show disapproval of a deed so utterly
+profane.
+
+She bestowed an openly withering look on the desecrators.
+
+"She dared me to," whispered Arthur--the excuse of the original
+Adam.
+
+Without other comment Missy returned her stern gaze to the pulpit.
+She held it there steadfast though she was conscious of Genevieve,
+undaunted, urging Arthur to throw another wad. He, however, refused.
+That pleased Missy, for it made it easier to fix the blame for the
+breach of religious etiquette upon Genevieve alone. Of course, it
+was Genevieve who was really to blame. She was a frivolous, light-
+minded girl. She was a bad influence for Arthur.
+
+Yet, when it came time for the "crowd" to disperse and Arthur told
+her good night as though nothing had happened, Missy deemed it only
+consistent with dignity to maintain extreme reserve.
+
+"Oh, fudge, Missy! Don't be so stand-offish!" Arthur was very
+appealing when he looked at you like that--his eyes so mischievous
+under their upcurling lashes. But Missy made herself say firmly:
+
+"You put me in a rather awkward position, Arthur. You know Reverend
+MacGill entrusted me to--"
+
+"Oh, come out of it!" interrupted Arthur, grinning.
+
+Missy sighed in her heart. She feared Arthur was utterly
+unregenerate. Especially, when as he turned to Genevieve--who was
+tugging at his arm--he gave the Reverend MacGill's missionary an
+open wink. Missy watched the white fox furs, their light-minded
+wearer and her quarry all depart together; commiseration for the
+victim vied with resentment against the temptress. Poor Arthur!
+
+She herself expected to be taken home by the O'Neills, but to her
+surprise she found her father waiting in the church vestibule. He
+said he had decided to come and hear the new minister, and Missy
+never suspected it was the unrest of a father who sees his little
+girl trying to become a big girl that had dragged him from his
+house-slippers and smoking-jacket this snowy evening.
+
+They walked homeward through the swirling flakes in silence. That
+was one reason why Missy enjoyed being with her father--she could be
+so companionably silent with him. She trudged along beside him,
+half-consciously trying to match his stride, while her thoughts flew
+far afield.
+
+But presently father spoke.
+
+"He's very eloquent, isn't he?"
+
+"He?--who?" She struggled to get her thoughts back home.
+
+Her father peered at her through the feathery gloom.
+
+"Why, the preacher--Reverend MacGill."
+
+"Oh, yes." She shook herself mentally. "He's perfectly fasci--" she
+broke off, remembering she was talking to a grown-up. "He's very
+inspired," she amended.
+
+Another pause. Again it was father who spoke first.
+
+"Who was the boy who threw the paper-wad?"
+
+Involuntarily Missy's hold on his arm loosened. Then father had
+seen. That was bad. Doubtless many others had seen--old people who
+didn't understand the circumstances. It was very bad for Arthur's
+reputation. Poor Arthur!
+
+"Threw the paper-wad?" she asked back evasively.
+
+"Yes, the red-headed boy. Wasn't it that Summers fellow?"
+
+That Summers fellow!--Arthur's reputation was already gone!
+
+"Wasn't it?" persisted father.
+
+Evasion was no longer possible. Anyway, it might be best to try to
+explain just how it was--to set poor Arthur right. So she replied:
+
+"Yes, it was Arthur--but it wasn't his fault, exactly."
+
+"Not HIS fault? Whose in thunder was it?"
+
+Missy hesitated. She didn't like talking scandal of anyone directly-
+-and, besides, there were likeable traits in Genevieve despite her
+obvious failings.
+
+"Well," she said, "it's just that Arthur is under a kind of wrong
+influence--if you know what I mean."
+
+"Yes, I know that influences count for a good deal," answered father
+in the serious way she loved in him. Father DID understand more than
+most grown-ups. And Reverend MacGill was like him in that. She found
+time fleetingly to wish that Reverend MacGill were in some way
+related to her. Too bad that he was a little too young for Aunt
+Nettie; and, perhaps, too old for--she caught herself up, blushing
+in the dark, as father went on:
+
+"Just what kind of influence is undermining this Arthur fellow?"
+
+She wished he wouldn't keep speaking of Arthur with that damning
+kind of phrase. It was because she wanted to convince him that
+Arthur didn't really merit it that she went further in speech than
+she'd intended.
+
+"Well, he runs around with frivolous, light-minded people. People
+who lead him on to do things he wouldn't dream of doing if they'd
+let him alone. It isn't his fault if he's kind of--kind of
+dissipated."
+
+She paused, a little awe-stricken herself at this climactic
+characterization of poor, misguided Arthur; she couldn't have told
+herself just how she had arrived at it. A little confusedly she
+rushed on: "He ought to have uplifting, ennobling influences in his
+life--Arthur's at heart an awfully nice boy. That's why I wanted
+mother to let me go walking with him. Don't you think that--maybe--
+if she understood--she might let me?"
+
+How in the world had that last question ever popped out? How had she
+worked up to it? A little appalled, a little abashed, but withal
+atingle at her own daring, she breathlessly, even hopefully, awaited
+his answer.
+
+But father ruthlessly squashed her hopes with two fell sentences and
+one terrifying oath.
+
+"I should say not! You say he's dissipated and then in the same
+breath ask me--for God's sake!"
+
+"Well, maybe, he isn't so dissipated, father," she began
+quaveringly, regretting the indiscretion into which eloquence had
+enticed her.
+
+"I don't care a whoop whether he is or not," said father
+heartlessly. "What I want is for you to get it into your head, once
+for all, that you're to have NOTHING to do with this fellow or any
+other boy!"
+
+Father's voice, usually so kind, had the doomsday quality that even
+mother used only on very rare occasions. It reverberated in the
+depths of Missy's being. They walked the last block in unbroken
+silence. As they passed through the gate, walked up the front path,
+shook the snow off their wraps on the porch, and entered the cosy-
+lighted precincts of home, Missy felt that she was the most
+wretched, lonely, misunderstood being in the world.
+
+She said her good nights quickly and got off upstairs to her room.
+As she undressed she could hear the dim, faraway sound of her
+parents' voices. The sound irritated her. They pretended to love
+her, but they seemed to enjoy making things hard for her! Not only
+did they begrudge her a good time and white fox furs and everything,
+but they wouldn't let her try to be a good influence to the world!
+What was the use of renouncing earthly vanities for yourself if you
+couldn't help others to renounce them, too? Of course there was a
+certain pleasure, a kind of calm, peaceful satisfaction, an ecstasy
+even, in letting the religious, above-the-world feeling take
+possession of you. But it was selfish to keep it all to yourself. It
+was your duty to pass it on, to do good works--to throw out the
+life-line. And they begrudged her that--it wasn't right. Were all
+parents as hard and cruel as hers?
+
+She felt like crying; but, just then, she heard them coming up the
+stairs. It would be difficult to explain her tears should one of
+them look into her room on some pretext; so she jumped quickly into
+bed. And, sure enough, she heard the door open. She shut her eyes.
+She heard her mother's voice: "Are you asleep, dear?" Impossible to
+divine that under that tender voice lay a stony heart! She emitted a
+little ghost of a snore; she heard the door close again, very
+softly.
+
+For a while she lay quiet but she felt so unlike sleep that,
+finally, she crept out of bed, groped for her blanket wrapper, and
+went over to the window. It had stopped snowing and everything shone
+palely in ghostly white. The trees were white-armed, gleaming
+skeletons, the summerhouse an eerie pagoda or something, the
+scurrying clouds, breaking now and showing silver edges from an
+invisible moon, were at once grand and terrifying. It was all very
+beautiful and mysterious and stirring. And something in her
+stretched out, out, out--to the driving clouds, to the gleaming,
+brandishing boughs, to the summerhouse so like something in a
+picture. And, as her soul stretched out to the beauty and grandeur
+and mystery of it all, there came over her a feeling of indefinable
+ecstasy, a vague, keen yearning to be really good in every way. Good
+to her Lord, to her father and mother and Aunt Nettie and little
+brother, to the Reverend MacGill with his fascinating smile and good
+works, to everybody--the whole town--the whole world. Even to
+Genevieve Hicks, though she seemed so self-satisfied with her white
+fox furs and giggling ways and utter worldliness--yet, there were
+many things likeable about Genevieve if you didn't let yourself get
+prejudiced. And Missy didn't ever want to let herself get
+prejudiced--narrow and harsh and bigoted like so many Christians.
+No; she wanted to be a sweet, loving, generous, helpful kind of
+Christian. And to Arthur, too, of course. There must be SOME way of
+helping Arthur.
+
+She found herself, half-pondering, half-praying:
+
+"How can I help Arthur, dear Jesus? Please help
+
+me find some way--so that he won't go on being light-minded and
+liking light-mindedness. How can I save him from his ways--maybe he
+IS dissipated. Maybe he smokes cigarettes! Why does he fall for
+light-mindedness? Why doesn't he feel the real beauty of services?--
+the rumbling throb of the organ, and the thrill of hearing your own
+voice singing sublime hymns, and the inspired swell of Reverend
+MacGill's voice when he prays with such expression? It is real
+ecstasy when you get the right kind of feeling--you're almost
+willing to renounce earthly vanities. But Arthur doesn't realize
+what it MEANS. How can I show him, dear Jesus? Because they've
+forbidden me to have anything to do with him. Would it be right, for
+the sake of his soul, for me to disobey them--just a little bit?.
+For the sake of his soul, you know. And he's really a nice boy at
+heart. THEY don't understand just how it is. But I don't think it
+would be VERY wrong if I talked to him just a little--do you?"
+
+Gradually it came over her that she was chilly; she dragged a
+comforter from her bed and resumed her kneeling posture by the
+window and her communings with Jesus and her conscience. Then she
+discovered she was going off to sleep, so she sprang to her feet and
+jumped back into bed. A great change had come over her spirit; no
+longer was there any restlessness, bitterness, or ugly rebellion;
+no; nothing but peace ineffable. Smiling softly, she slept.
+
+The next morning brought confusion to the Merriam household for
+father was catching the 8:37 to Macon City on a business trip, Aunt
+Nettie was going along with him to do some shopping, mother was in
+bed with one of her headaches, and Missy had an inexplicably sore
+throat. This last calamity was attributed, in a hurried conclave in
+mother's darkened room, to Missy's being out in the snow-storm the
+night before. Missy knew there was another contributory cause, but
+she couldn't easily have explained her vigil at the window.
+
+"I didn't want her to go to church in the first place," mother
+lamented.
+
+"Well, she won't go any more," said father darkly. Missy's heart
+sank; she looked at him with mutely pleading eyes.
+
+"And you needn't look at me like that," he added firmly. "It won't
+do you the least good."
+
+Missy's heart sank deeper. How could she hope to exert a proper
+religious influence if she didn't attend services regularly herself?
+But father looked terribly adamantine.
+
+"I think you'd better stay home from school today," he continued,
+"it's still pretty blustery."
+
+So Missy found herself spending the day comparatively alone in a
+preternaturally quiet house--noisy little brother off at school,
+Aunt Nettie's busy tongue absent, Marguerite, the hired girl, doing
+the laundry down in the basement. And mother's being sick, as always
+is the case when a mother is sick, seemed to add an extra heaviness
+to the pervasive stillness. The blustery day invited reading, but
+Missy couldn't find anything in the house she hadn't already read;
+and she couldn't go to the Public Library because of her throat. And
+couldn't practice because of mother's head. Time dragged on her
+hands, and Satan found the mischief--though Missy devoutly believed
+that it was the Lord answering her prayer.
+
+She was idling at the front-parlour window when she saw Picker's
+delivery wagon stop at the gate. She hurried back to the kitchen,
+telling herself that Marguerite shouldn't be disturbed at her
+washtubs. So she herself let Arthur in. All sprinkled with snow and
+ruddy-cheeked and mischievous-eyed, he grinned at her as he emptied
+his basket on the kitchen table.
+
+"Well," he bantered, "did you pray for my sins last night?"
+
+"You shouldn't make fun of things like that," she said rebukingly.
+
+Arthur chortled.
+
+"Gee, Missy, but you're sure a scream when you get pious!" Then he
+sobered and, casually--a little too casually, enquired: "Say, I
+s'pose you're going again to-night?"
+
+Missy regretfully shook her head. "No, I've got a. sore throat." She
+didn't deem it necessary to say anything about parental objections.
+Arthur looked regretful, too.
+
+"Say, that's too bad. I was thinking, maybe--"
+
+He shuffled from one foot to the other in a way that to Missy
+clearly finished his speech's hiatus: He'd been contemplating taking
+HER home to-night instead of that frivolous Genevieve Hicks! What a
+shame! To lose the chance to be a really good influence--for surely
+getting Arthur to church again, even though for the main purpose of
+seeing her home, was better than for him not to go to church at all.
+It is excusable to sort of inveigle a sinner into righteous paths.
+What a shame she couldn't grasp at this chance for service! But she
+oughtn't to let go of it altogether; oughtn't to just abandon him,
+as it were, to his fate. She puckered her brows meditatively.
+
+"I'm not going to church, but--"
+
+She paused, thinking hard. Arthur waited.
+
+An inspiration came to her. "Anyway, I have to go to the library to-
+night. I've got some history references to look up."
+
+Arthur brightened. The library appealed to him as a rendezvous more
+than church, anyway. Oh, ye Public Libraries of all the Cherryvales
+of the land! Winter-time haunt of young love, rivalling band-
+concerts in the Public Square on summer evenings! What unscholastic
+reminiscences might we not hear, could book-lined shelves in the
+shadowy nooks, but speak!
+
+"About what time will you be through at the Library?" asked Arthur,
+still casual.
+
+"Oh, about eight-thirty," said Missy, not pausing to reflect that
+it's an inconsistent sore throat that can venture to the Library but
+not to church.
+
+"Well, maybe I'll be dropping along that way about that time,"
+opined Arthur. "Maybe I'll see you there."
+
+"That would be nice," said Missy, tingling.
+
+She continued to tingle after he had jauntily departed with his
+basket and clattered away in his delivery wagon. She had a "date"
+with Arthur. The first real "date" she'd ever had! Then, resolutely
+she squashed her thrills; she must remember that this meeting was
+for a Christian cause. The motive was what made it all right for her
+to disobey--that is, to SEEM to disobey--her parents' commands. They
+didn't "understand." She couldn't help feeling a little perturbed
+over her apparent disobedience and had to argue, hard with her
+conscience.
+
+Then, another difficulty presented itself to her mind. Mother had
+set her foot down on evening visits to the Library--mother seemed to
+think girls went there evenings chiefly to meet boys! Mother would
+never let her go--especially in such weather and with a sore throat.
+Missy pondered long and earnestly.
+
+The result was that, after supper, at which mother had appeared,
+pale and heavy-eyed, Missy said tentatively:
+
+"Can I run up to Kitty's a little while to See what the lessons are
+for to-morrow?"
+
+"I don't think you'd better, dear," mother replied listlessly. "It
+wouldn't be wise, with that throat."
+
+"But my throat's better. And I've GOT to keep up my lessons, mother!
+And just a half a block can't hurt me if I bundle up." Missy had
+formulated her plan well; Kitty Allen had been chosen as an alibi
+because of her proximity.
+
+"Very well, then," agreed mother.
+
+As Missy sped toward the library, conflicting emotions swirled
+within her and joined forces with the sharp breathlessness brought
+on by her haste. She had never before been out alone at night, and
+the blackness of tree-shadows lying across the intense whiteness of
+the snow struck her in two places at once--imaginatively in the
+brain and fearsomely in the stomach. Nor is a guilty conscience a
+reassuring companion under such circumstances. Missy kept telling
+herself that, if she HAD lied a little bit, it was really her
+parents' fault; if they had only let her go to church, she wouldn't
+have been driven to sneaking out this way. But her trip, however
+fundamentally virtuous--and with whatever subtly interwoven elements
+of pleasure at its end--was certainly not an agreeable one. At the
+moment Missy resolved never, never to sneak off alone at night
+again.
+
+In the brightly lighted library her fears faded away; she warmed to
+anticipation again. And she found some very enjoyable stories in the
+new magazines--she seemed, strangely, to have forgotten about any
+"history references." But, as the hands on the big clock above the
+librarian's desk moved toward half-past eight, apprehensions began
+to rise again. What if Arthur should fail to come? Could she ever
+live through that long, terrible trip home, all alone?
+
+Then, just as fear was beginning to turn to panic, Arthur sauntered
+in, nonchalantly took a chair at another table, picked up a magazine
+and professed to glance through it. And then, while Missy
+palpitated, he looked over at her, smiled, and made an interrogative
+movement with his eyebrows. More palpitant by the second, she
+replaced her magazines and got into her wraps. As she moved toward
+the door, whither Arthur was also sauntering, she felt that every
+eye in the Library must be observing. Hard to tell whether she was
+more proud or embarrassed at the public empressement of her "date."
+
+Arthur, quite at ease, took her arm to help her down the slippery
+steps.
+
+Arthur wore his air of assurance gracefully because he was so used
+to it. Admiration from the fair sex was no new thing to him. And
+Missy knew this. Perhaps that was one reason she'd been so modestly
+pleased that he had wished to bestow his gallantries upon her. She
+realized that Raymond Bonner was much handsomer and richer; and that
+Kitty Allen's cousin Jim from Macon City, in his uniform of a
+military cadet, was much more distinguished-looking; and that Don
+Jones was much more humbly adoring. Arthur had red hair, and lived
+in a boarding-house and drove a delivery-wagon, and wasn't the least
+bit humble; but he had an audacious grin and upcurling lashes and "a
+way with him." So Missy accepted his favour with a certain proud
+gratitude.
+
+She felt herself the heroine of a thrilling situation though their
+conversation, as Arthur guided her along the icy sidewalks, was of
+very ordinary things: the weather--Missy's sore throat (sweet
+solicitude from Arthur)--and gossip of the "crowd"--the weather's
+probabilities to-morrow--more gossip--the weather again.
+
+The weather was, in fact, in assertive evidence. The wind whipped
+chillingly about Missy's shortskirted legs, for they were strolling
+slowly--the correct way to walk when one has a "date." Missy's teeth
+were chattering and her legs seemed wooden, but she'd have died
+rather than suggest running a block to warm up. Anyway, despite
+physical discomforts, there was a certain deliciousness in the
+situation, even though she found it difficult to turn the talk into
+the spiritual trend she had proposed. Finally Arthur himself
+mentioned the paper-wad episode, laughing at it as though it were a
+sort of joke.
+
+That was her opening.
+
+"You shouldn't be so worldly, Arthur," she said in a voice of gentle
+reproof.
+
+"Worldly?" in some surprise.
+
+She nodded seriously over her serviceable, unworldly brown
+collarette.
+
+"How am I worldly?" he pursued, in a tone of one not entirely
+unpleased.
+
+"Why--throwing wads in church--lack of respect for religious things-
+-and things like that."
+
+"Oh, I see," said Arthur, his tone dropping a little. "I suppose it
+was a silly thing to do," he added with a touch of stiffness.
+
+"It was a profane kind of thing," she said, sadly. "Don't you see,
+Arthur?"
+
+"If I'm such a sinner, I don't see why you have anything to do with
+me."
+
+It stirred her profoundly that he didn't laugh, scoff at her; she
+had feared he might. She answered, very gravely:
+
+"It's because I like you. You don't think it's a pleasure to me to
+find fault with you, do you Arthur?"
+
+"Then why find fault?" he asked good-naturedly.
+
+"But if the faults are THERE?" she persevered.
+
+"Let's forget about 'em, then," he answered with cheerful logic. "
+Everybody can't be good like YOU, you know."
+
+Missy felt nonplussed, though subtly pleased, in a way. Arthur DID
+admire her, thought her "good"--perhaps, in time she could be a good
+influence to him. But at a loss just how to answer his personal
+allusion, she glanced backward over her shoulder. In the moonlight
+she saw a tall man back there in the distance.
+
+There was a little pause.
+
+"I don't s'pose you'll be going to the Library again to-morrow
+night?" suggested Arthur presently.
+
+"Why, I don't know--why?" But she knew "why," and her knowledge gave
+her a tingle.
+
+"Oh, I was just thinking that if you had to look up some references
+or something, maybe I might drop around again."
+
+"Maybe I WILL have to--I don't know just yet," she murmured,
+confused with a sweet kind of confusion.
+
+"Well, I'll just drop by, anyway," he said. "Maybe you'll be there."
+
+"Yes, maybe."
+
+Another pause. Trying to think of something to say, she glanced
+again over her shoulder. Then she clutched at Arthur's arm.
+
+"Look at that man back there--following us! He looks something like
+father!"
+
+As she spoke she unconsciously quickened her pace; Arthur
+consciously quickened his. He knew--as all of the boys of "the
+crowd" knew--Mr. Merriam's stand on the matter of beaux.
+
+"Oh!" cried Missy under her breath. She fancied that the tall figure
+had now accelerated his gait, also. "It IS father! I'll cut across
+this vacant lot and get in at the kitchen door--I can beat him home
+that way!"
+
+Arthur started to turn into the vacant lot with her, but she gave
+him a little push.
+
+"No! no! It's just a little way--I won't be afraid. You'd better
+run, Arthur--he might kill you!"
+
+Arthur didn't want to be killed. "So long, then--let me know how
+things come out!"--and he disappeared fleetly down the block.
+
+Missy couldn't make such quick progress; the vacant lot had been a
+cornfield, and the stubby ground was frozen into hard, sharp ridges
+under the snow. She stumbled, felt her shoes filling with snow,
+stumbled on, fell down, felt her stocking tear viciously. She
+glanced over her shoulder--had the tall figure back there on the
+sidewalk slowed down, too, or was it only imagination? She scrambled
+to her feet and hurried on--and HE seemed to be hurrying again. She
+had no time, now, to be afraid of the vague terrors of night; her
+panic was perfectly and terribly tangible. She MUST get home ahead
+of father.
+
+Blindly she stumbled on.
+
+At the kitchen door she paused a moment to regain her breath; then,
+very quietly, she entered. There was a light in the kitchen and she
+could hear mother doing something in the pantry. She sniffed at the
+air and called cheerily:
+
+"Been popping corn?"
+
+"Yes," came mother's voice, rather stiffly. "Seems to me you've been
+a long time finding out about those lessons!"
+
+Not offering to debate that question, nor waiting to appease her
+sudden craving for pop-corn, Missy moved toward the door.
+
+"Get your wet shoes off at once!" called mother.
+
+"That's just what I was going to do." And she hurried up the back
+stairs, unbuttoning buttons as she went.
+
+Presently, in her night-dress and able to breathe naturally again,
+she felt safer. But she decided she'd better crawl into bed. She lay
+there, listening. It must have been a half-hour later when she heard
+a cab stop in front of the house, and then the slam of the front
+door and the sound of father's voice. He had just come in on the
+9:23--THAT hadn't been him, after all!
+
+As relief stole over her, drowsiness tugged at her eyelids. But,
+just as she was dozing off, she was roused by someone's entering the
+room, bending over her.
+
+"Asleep?"
+
+It was father! Her first sensation was of fear, until she realized
+his tone was not one to be feared. And, responding to that
+tenderness of tone, sharp compunctions pricked her. Dear father!--it
+was horrible to have to deceive him.
+
+"I've brought you a little present from town." He was lighting the
+gas. "Here!"
+
+Her blinking eyes saw him place a big flat box on the bed. She
+fumbled at the cords, accepted his proffered pen-knife, and then--
+oh, dear heaven! There, fluffy, snow-white and alluring, reposed a
+set of white fox furs!
+
+"S-sh!" he admonished, smiling. "Mother doesn't know about them
+yet."
+
+"Oh, father!" She couldn't say any more. And the father, smiling at
+her, thought he understood the emotions which tied her tongue, which
+underlay her fervent good night kiss. But he could never have
+guessed all the love, gratitude, repentance, self-abasement and high
+resolves at that moment welling within her.
+
+He left her sitting up there in bed, her fingers still caressing the
+silky treasure. As soon as he was gone, she climbed out of bed to
+kneel in repentant humility.
+
+"Dear Jesus," she prayed, "please forgive me for deceiving my dear
+father and mother. If you'll forgive me just this once, I promise
+never, never to deceive them again."
+
+Then, feeling better--prayer, when there is real faith, does lift a
+load amazingly--she climbed back into bed, with the furs on her
+pillow.
+
+But she could not sleep. That was natural--so much had happened, and
+everything seemed so complicated. Everything had been seeming to go
+against her and here, all of a sudden, everything had turned out her
+way. She had her white fox furs, much prettier than Genevieve
+Hicks's--oh, she DID hope they'd let her go to church next Sunday
+night so she could wear them! And she'd had a serious little talk
+with Arthur--the way seemed paved for her to exert a really
+satisfactory influence over him. As soon as she could see him again-
+-Oh, she wished she might wear the furs to the Library to-morrow
+night! She wished Arthur could see her in them--
+
+A sudden thought brought her up sharp: she couldn't meet him to-
+morrow night after all--for she never wanted to deceive dear father
+again. No, she would never sneak off like that any more. Yet it
+wouldn't be fair to Arthur to let him go there and wait in vain. She
+ought to let him know, some way. And she ought to let him know, too,
+that that man wasn't father, after all. What if he was worrying,
+this minute, thinking she might have been caught and punished. It
+didn't seem right, while SHE was so happy, to leave poor Arthur
+worrying like that. . . Oh, she DID wish he could see her in the
+furs. . . Yes, she OUGHT to tell him she couldn't keep the "date"--
+it would be awful for him to sit there in the Library, waiting and
+waiting. . .
+
+She kept up her disturbed ponderings until the house grew dark and
+still. Then, very quietly, she crept out of bed and dressed herself
+in the dark. She put on her cloak and hat. After a second's
+hesitation she added the white fox furs. Then, holding her breath,
+she stole down the back stairs and out the kitchen door.
+
+The night seemed more fearsomely spectral than ever--it must be
+terribly late; but she sped through the white silence resolutely.
+She was glad Arthur's boarding-house was only two blocks away. She
+knew which was his window; she stood beneath it and softly gave "the
+crowd's" whistle. Waited--whistled again. There was his window going
+up at last. And Arthur's tousled head peering out.
+
+"I just wanted to let you know I can't come to the Library after
+all, Arthur! No!--Don't say anything, now!--I'll explain all about
+it when I get a chance. And that wasn't father--it turned out all
+right. No, no!--Don't say anything now! Maybe I'll be in the kitchen
+to-morrow. Good night!"
+
+Then, while Arthur stared after her amazedly, she turned and
+scurried like a scared rabbit through the white silence.
+
+As she ran she was wondering whether Arthur had got a really good
+view of the furs in the moonlight; was resolving to urge him to go
+to church next Sunday night even if SHE couldn't; was telling
+herself she mustn't ENTIRELY relinquish her hold on him-for his
+sake. . .
+
+So full were her thoughts that she forgot to be much afraid. And the
+Lord must have been with her, for she reached the kitchen door in
+safety and regained her own room without detection. In bed once
+again, a great, soft, holy peace seemed to enfold her. Everything
+was right with everybody--with father and mother and God and Arthur-
+-everybody.
+
+At the very time she was going off into smiling slumber--one hand
+nestling in the white fox furs on her pillow--it happened that her
+father was making half-apologetic explanations to her mother:
+everything had seemed to come down on the child in a lump--commands
+against walking and against boys and against going out nights and
+everything. He couldn't help feeling for the youngster. So he
+thought he'd bring her the white fox furs she seemed to have set her
+heart on.
+
+And Mrs. Merriam, who could understand a father's indulgent,
+sympathetic heart even though--as Missy believed--she wasn't capable
+of "understanding" a daughter's, didn't have it in her, then, to
+spoil his pleasure by expounding that wanting furs and wanting beaux
+were really one and the same evil.
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+BUSINESS OF BLUSHING
+
+Missy was embroiled in a catastrophe, a tangle of embarrassments and
+odd complications. Aunt Nettie attributed the blame broadly to "that
+O'Neill girl"; she asserted that ever since Tess O'Neill had come to
+live in Cherryvale Missy had been "up to" just one craziness after
+another. But then Aunt Nettie was an old maid--Missy couldn't
+imagine her as EVER having been fifteen years old. Mother, who could
+generally be counted on for tenderness even when she failed to
+"understand," rather unfortunately centred on the wasp detail--why
+had Missy just stood there and let it keep stinging her? And Missy
+felt shy at trying to explain it was because the wasp was stinging
+her LEG. Mother would be sure to remark this sudden show of modesty
+in one she'd just been scolding for the lack of it--for riding the
+pony astride and showing her--
+
+Oh, legs(! Missy was in a terrific confusion, as baffled by certain
+inconsistencies displayed by her own nature as overwhelmed by her
+disgraceful predicament. For she was certainly sincere in her
+craving to be as debonairly "athletic" as Tess; yet, during that
+ghastly moment when the wasp was . . .
+
+No, she could never explain it to mother. Old people don't
+understand. Not even to father could she have talked it all out,
+though he had patted her hand and acted like an angel when he paid
+for the bucket of candy--that candy which none of them got even a
+taste of! That Tess and Arthur should eat up the candy which her own
+father paid for, made one more snarl in the whole inconsistent
+situation.
+
+It all began with the day Arthur Simpson "dared" Tess to ride her
+pony into Picker's grocery store. Before Tess had come to live in
+the sanitarium at the edge of town where her father was head doctor,
+she had lived in Macon City and had had superior advantages--city
+life, to Missy, a Cherryvalian from birth, sounded exotic and
+intriguing. Then Tess in her nature was far from ordinary. She was
+characterized by a certain dash and fine flair; was inventive,
+fearless, and possessed the gift of leadership. Missy, seeing how
+eagerly the other girls of "the crowd" caught up Tess's original
+ideas, felt enormously flattered when the leader selected such a
+comparatively stupid girl as herself as a chum.
+
+For Missy thought she must be stupid. She wasn't "smart" in school
+like Beulah Crosswhite, nor strikingly pretty like Kitty Allen, nor
+president of the Iolanthians like Mabel Dowd, nor conspicuously
+popular with the boys like Genevieve Hicks. No, she possessed no
+distinctive traits anybody could pick out to label her by--at least
+that is what she thought. So she felt on her mettle; she wished to
+prove herself worthy of Tess's high regard.
+
+It was rather strenuous living up to Tess. Sometimes Missy couldn't
+help wishing that her chum were not quite so alert. Being all the
+while on the jump, mentally and physically, left you somewhat
+breathless and dizzy; then, too, it didn't leave you time to sample
+certain quieter yet thrilling enjoyments that came right to hand.
+For example, now and then, Missy secretly longed to spend a
+leisurely hour or so just talking with Tess's grandmother. Tess's
+grandmother, though an old lady, seemed to her a highly romantic
+figure. Her name was Mrs. Shears and she had lived her girlhood in a
+New England seaport town, and her father had been captain of a
+vessel which sailed to and from far Eastern shores. He had brought
+back from those long-ago voyages bales and bales of splendid
+Oriental fabrics--stiff rustling silks and slinky clinging crepes
+and indescribably brilliant brocades shot with silver or with gold.
+For nearly fifty years Mrs. Shears had worn dresses made from these
+romantic stuffs and she was wearing them yet--in Cherryvale! They
+were all made after the same pattern, gathered voluminous skirt and
+fitted bodice and long flowing sleeves; and, with the small lace cap
+she always wore on her white hair. Missy thought the old lady looked
+as if she'd just stepped from the yellow-tinged pages of some
+fascinating old book. She wished her own grandmother dressed like
+that; of course she loved Grandma Merriam dearly and really wouldn't
+have exchanged her for the world, yet, in contrast, she did seem
+somewhat commonplace.
+
+It was interesting to sit and look at Grandma Shears and to hear her
+recount the Oriental adventures of her father, the sea captain. But
+Tess gave Missy little chance to do this. Tess had heard and re-
+heard the adventures to the point of boredom and custom had caused
+her to take her grandmother's strange garb as a matter of course;
+Tess's was a nature which craved--and generally achieved--novelty.
+
+Just now her particular interest veered toward athleticism; she had
+recently returned from a visit to Macon City and brimmed with
+colourful tales of its "Country Club" life--swimming, golf, tennis,
+horseback riding, and so forth. These pursuits she straightway set
+out to introduce into drowsy, behind-the-times Cherryvale. But in
+almost every direction she encountered difficulties: there was in
+Cherryvale no place to swim except muddy Bull Creek--and the girls'
+mothers unanimously vetoed that; and there were no links for golf;
+and the girls themselves didn't enthuse greatly over tennis those
+broiling afternoons. So Tess centred on horseback riding, deciding
+it was the "classiest" sport, after all. But the old Neds and
+Nellies of the town, accustomed leisurely to transport their various
+family surreys, did not metamorphose into hackneys of such spirit
+and dash as filled Tess's dreams.
+
+Even so, these steeds were formidable enough to Missy. She feared
+she wasn't very athletic. That was an afternoon of frightful chagrin
+when she came walking back into Cherryvale, ignominiously following
+Dr. O'Neill's Ben. Old Ben, who was lame in his left hind foot, had
+a curious gait, like a sort of grotesque turkey trot. Missy
+outwardly attributed her inability to keep her seat to Ben's
+peculiar rocking motion, but in her heart she knew it was simply
+because she was afraid. What she was afraid of she couldn't have
+specified. Not of old Ben surely, for she knew him to be the
+gentlest of horses. When she stood on the ground beside him,
+stroking his shaggy, uncurried flanks or feeding him bits of sugar,
+she felt not the slightest fear. Yet the minute she climbed up into
+the saddle she sickened under the grip of some increasingly heart-
+stilling panic. Even before Ben started forward; so it wasn't Ben's
+rocking, lop-sided gait that was really at the bottom of her fear--
+it only accentuated it. Why was she afraid of Ben up there in the
+saddle while not in the least afraid when standing beside him? Fear
+was very strange. Did everybody harbour some secret, absurd,
+unreasonable fear? No, Tess didn't; Tess wasn't afraid of anything.
+Tess was cantering along on rawboned Nellie in beautiful unconcern.
+Missy admired and envied her dreadfully.
+
+Her sense of her own shortcomings became all the more poignant when
+the little cavalcade, with Missy still ignominiously footing it in
+the rear, had to pass the group of loafers in front of the Post
+Office. The loafers called out rude, bantering comments, and Missy
+burned with shame.
+
+Then Arthur Simpson appeared in Pieker's doorway next door and
+grinned.
+
+"Hello! Some steed!" he greeted Tess. "Dare you to ride her in!"
+
+"Not to-day, thanks," retorted Tess insouciantly--that was another
+quality Missy envied in her friend, her unfailing insouciance. "Wait
+till I get my new pony next week, and then I'll take you up!"
+
+"All right. The dare holds good." Then Arthur turned his grin to
+Missy. "What's the matter with YOU? Charger get out of hand?"
+
+The loafers in front of the Post Office took time from their chewing
+and spitting to guffaw. Missy could have died of mortification.
+
+"Want a lift?" asked Arthur, moving forward.
+
+Missy shook her head. She longed to retrieve herself in the public
+gaze, longed to shine as Tess shone, but not for worlds could she
+have essayed that high, dizzy seat again. So she shook her head
+dumbly and Arthur grinned at her not unkindly. Missy liked Arthur
+Simpson. He wore a big blue-denim apron and had red hair and
+freckles--not a romantic figure by any means; but there was a
+mischievous imp in his eye and a rollicking lilt in his voice that
+made you like him, anyway. Missy wished he hadn't been a witness to
+her predicament. Not that she felt at all sentimental toward Arthur.
+Arthur "went with" Genevieve Hicks, a girl whom Missy privately
+deemed frivolous and light-minded. Besides Missy herself was, at
+this time, interested in Raymond Bonner, the handsomest boy in "the
+crowd." Missy liked good looks--they appealed to the imagination or
+something. And she adored everything that appealed to the
+imagination: there was, for instance, the picture of Sir Galahad, in
+shining armour, which hung on the wall of her room--for a time she
+had almost said her prayers to that picture; and there was a
+compelling mental image of the gallant Sir Launcelot in "Idylls of
+the King" and of the stern, repressed, silently suffering Guy in
+"Airy Fairy Lilian." Also there had recently come into her
+possession a magazine clipping of the boy king of Spain; she
+couldn't claim that Alphonso was handsome--in truth he was quite
+ugly--yet there was something intriguing about him. She secretly
+treasured the printed likeness and thought about the original a
+great deal: the alluring life he led, the panoply of courts, royal
+balls and garden-parties and resplendent military parades, and
+associating with princes and princesses all the time. She wondered,
+with a little sigh, whether his "crowd" called him by his first
+name; though a King he was just a boy--about her own age.
+
+Nevertheless, though Arthur Simpson was neither handsome nor
+revealed aught which might stir vague, deep currents of romance,
+Missy regretted that even Arthur had seen her in such a sorry
+plight. She wished he might see her at a better advantage. For
+instance, galloping up on a spirited mount, in a modish riding-
+habit--a checked one with flaring-skirted coat and shining boots and
+daring but swagger breeches, perhaps!--galloping insouciantly up to
+take that dare!
+
+But she knew it was an empty dream. Even if she had the swagger
+togs--a notion mad to absurdity--she could never gallop with
+insouciance. She wasn't the athletic sort.
+
+At supper she was still somewhat bitterly ruminating her failings.
+
+"Missy, you're not eating your omelet," adjured her mother.
+
+Missy's eyes came back from space.
+
+"I was just wondering--" then she broke off.
+
+"Yes, dear," encouraged mother. Missy's hazy thoughts took a sudden
+plunge, direct and startling.
+
+"I was wondering if, maybe, you'd give me an old pair of father's
+trousers."
+
+"What on earth for, child?"
+
+"Just an old pair," Missy went on, ignoring the question. "Maybe
+that pepper-and-salt pair you said you'd have to give to Jeff."
+
+"But what do you want of them?" persisted mother. "Jeff needs them
+disgracefully--the last time he mowed the yard I blushed every time
+he turned his back toward the street."
+
+"I think Mrs. Allen's going to give him a pair of Mr. Allen's--Kitty
+said she was. So he won't need the pepper-and-salts."
+
+"But what do you want with a pair of PANTS?" Aunt Nettie put in.
+Missy wished Aunt Nettie had been invited out to supper; Aunt Nettie
+was relentlessly inquisitive. She knew she must give some kind of
+answer.
+
+"Oh, just for some fancy-work," she said. She tried to make her tone
+insouciant, but she was conscious of her cheeks getting hot.
+
+"Fancy-work--pants for fancy-work! For heaven's sake!" ejaculated
+Aunt Nettie.
+
+Mother, also, was staring at her in surprise. But father, who was a
+darling, put in: "Give 'em to her if she wants 'em, dear. Maybe
+she'll make a lambrequin for the piano or an embroidered smoking-
+jacket for the old man--a'la your Ladies' Home Companion."
+
+He grinned at her, but Missy didn't mind father's jokes at her
+expense so much as most grown-ups'. Besides she was grateful to him
+for diverting attention from her secret purpose for the pants.
+
+After supper, out in the summerhouse, it was an evening of such
+swooning beauty she almost forgot the bothers vexing her life. When
+you sit and watch the sun set in a bed of pastel glory, and let the
+level bars of thick gold light steal across the soft slick grass to
+reach to your very soul, and smell the heavenly sweetness of dew-
+damp roses, and listen to the shrill yet mournful even-song of the
+locusts--when you sit very still, just letting it all seep into you
+and through and through you, such a beatific sense of peace surges
+over you that, gradually, trivial things like athletic shortcomings
+seem superficial and remote.
+
+Later, too, up in her room, slowly undressing in the moonlight, she
+let herself yield to the sweeter spell. She loved her room,
+especially when but dimly lit by soft white strips of the moon
+through the window. She loved the dotted Swiss curtains blowing, and
+the white-valanced little bed, and the white-valanced little
+dressing-table all dim and misty save where a broad shaft of light
+gave a divine patch of illumination to undress by. She said her
+prayers on her knees by the window, where she could keep open but
+unsacrilegious eyes on God's handiwork outside--the divine miracle
+of everyday things transformed into shimmering glory.
+
+A soft brushing against her ankles told her that Poppylinda, her
+cat, had come to say good night. She lifted her pet up to the sill.
+
+"See the beautiful night, Poppy," she said. "See!--it's just like a
+great, soft, lovely, blue-silver bed!"
+
+Poppy gave a gentle purr of acquiescence. Missy was sure it was
+acquiescence. She was convinced that Poppy had a fine, appreciative,
+discriminating mind. Aunt Nettie scouted at this; she denied that
+she disliked Poppy, but said she "liked cats in their place." Missy
+knew this meant, of course, that inwardly she loathed cats; that she
+regarded them merely as something which musses up counterpanes and
+keeps outlandish hours. Aunt Nettie was perpetually finding fault
+with Poppy; but Missy had noted that Aunt Nettie and all the others
+who emphasized Poppy's imperfections were people whom Poppy, in her
+turn, for some reason could not endure. This point she tried to make
+once when Poppy had been convicted of a felonious scratch, but of
+course the grown-ups couldn't follow her reasoning. Long since she'd
+given up trying to make clear the real merits of her pet; she only
+knew that Poppy was more loving and lovable, more sympathetic and
+comprehending, than the majority of humans. She could count on
+Poppy's never jarring on any mood, whether grave or gay. Poppy
+adored listening to poetry read aloud, sitting immovable save for
+slowly blinking eyes for an hour at a stretch. She even had an
+appreciation for music, often remaining in the parlour throughout
+her mistress's practice period, and sometimes purring an
+accompaniment to tunes she especially liked--such tunes as "The
+Maiden's Prayer" or "Old Black Joe with Variations." There was, too,
+about her a touch of something which Missy thought must be
+mysticism; for Poppy heard sounds and saw things which no one else
+could--following these invisible objects with attentive eyes while
+Missy saw nothing; then, sometimes, she would get up suddenly,
+switching her tail, and watch them as they evidently disappeared.
+But Missy never mentioned Poppy's gift of second sight; she knew the
+old people would only laugh.
+
+Now she cuddled Poppy in her lap, and with a sense of companionship,
+enjoyed the landscape of silvered loveliness and peace. A sort of
+sad enjoyment, but pleasantly sad. Occasionally she sighed, but it
+was a sigh of deep content. Such things as perching dizzily atop a
+horse's back, even cantering in graceful insouciance, seemed far,
+far away.
+
+Yet, after she was in her little white bed, in smiling dreams she
+saw herself, smartly accoutred in gleaming boots and pepper-and-salt
+riding-breeches, galloping up to Pieker's grocery and there, in the
+admiring view of the Post Office loafers and of a dumbfounded
+Arthur, cantering insouciantly across the sidewalk and into the
+store!
+
+Her dream might have ended there, nothing more than a fleeting
+phantasm, had not Tess, the following week, come into possession of
+Gypsy.
+
+Gypsy was a black pony with a white star on her forehead and a long
+wavy tail. She was a pony with a personality--from the start Missy
+recognized the pony as a person just as she recognized Poppy as a
+person. When Gypsy gazed at you out of those soft, bright eyes, or
+when she pricked up her ears with an alert listening gesture, or
+when she turned her head and switched her tail with nonchalant
+unconcern--oh, it is impossible to describe the charm of Gypsy. That
+was it--"charm"; and the minute Missy laid eyes on the darling she
+succumbed to it. She had thought herself absurdly but deep-rootedly
+afraid of all horseflesh, but Gypsy didn't seem a mere horse. She
+was pert, coquettish, coy, loving, inquisitive, naughty; both Tess
+and Missy declared she had really human intelligence.
+
+She began to manifest this the very day of her arrival. After Tess
+had ridden round the town and shown off properly, she left the pony
+in the sideyard of the sanitarium while she and Missy slipped off to
+the summerhouse to enjoy a few stolen chapters from "The Duchess."
+There was high need for secrecy for, most unreasonably, "The
+Duchess" had been put under a parental ban; moreover Tess feared
+there were stockings waiting to be darned.
+
+Presently they heard Mrs. O'Neill calling, but they just sat still,
+stifling their giggles. Gypsy, who had sauntered up to the
+summerhouse door, poked in an inquisitive nose. Mrs. O'Neill didn't
+call again, so Tess whispered: "She thinks we've gone over to your
+house--we can go on reading."
+
+After a while Missy glanced up and nudged Tess. "Gypsy's still
+there--just standing and looking at us! See her bright eyes--the
+darling!"
+
+"Yes, isn't she cute?" agreed Tess.
+
+But, just at that, a second shadow fell athwart the sunny sward, a
+hand pushed Gypsy's head from the opening, and Mrs. O'Neill's voice
+said:
+
+"If you girls don't want your whereabouts given away, you'd better
+teach that pony not to stand with her head poked in the door for a
+half-hour without budging!"
+
+The ensuing scolding wasn't pleasant, but neither of the miscreants
+had the heart to blame Gypsy. She was so cute.
+
+She certainly was cute.
+
+The second day of her ownership Tess judged it necessary to give
+Gypsy a switching; Gypsy declined to be saddled and went circling
+round and round the yard in an abandon of playfulness. So Tess
+snapped off a peach-tree switch and, finally cornering the pony,
+proceeded to use it. Missy pleaded, but Tess stood firm for
+discipline. However Gypsy revenged herself; for two hours she
+wouldn't let Tess come near her--she'd sidle up and lay her velvet
+nose against Missy's shoulder until Tess was within an arm's length,
+and then, tossing her head spitefully, caper away.
+
+No wonder the girls ejaculated at her smartness.
+
+Finally she turned gentle as a lamb, soft as silk, and let Tess
+adjust the saddle; but scarcely had Tess ridden a block before--
+wrench!--something happened to the saddle, and Tess was left seated
+by the roadside while Gypsy vanished in a cloud of dust. The imp had
+deliberately swelled herself out so that the girth would be loose!
+
+Every day brought new revelations of Gypsy's intelligence. Missy
+took to spending every spare minute at Tess's. Under this new
+captivation her own pet, Poppy, was thoughtlessly neglected. And
+duties such as practicing, dusting and darning were deliberately
+shirked. Even reading had lost much of its wonted charm: the
+haunting, soul-swelling rhythms of poetry, or the oddly phrased
+medieval romances which somehow carried you back through the
+centuries--into the very presence of those queenly heroines who
+trail their robes down the golden stairways of legend. But Missy's
+feet seemed to have forgotten the familiar route to the Public
+Library and, instead, ever turned eagerly toward the O'Neills'--that
+is, toward the O'Neills' barn.
+
+And, if she had admired Tess before, she worshipped her now for so
+generously permitting another to share the wonderful pony--it was
+like being a half owner. And the odd thing was that, though Gypsy
+had undeniable streaks of wildness, Missy never felt a tremor while
+on her. On Gypsy she cantered, she trotted, she galloped, just as
+naturally and enjoyably as though she had been born on horseback.
+Then one epochal day, emulating Tess's example, she essayed to ride
+astride. It was wonderful. She could imagine herself a Centaur
+princess. And, curiously, she felt not at all embarrassed. Yet she
+was glad that, back there in the lot, she was screened by the big
+barn from probably critical eyes.
+
+But Gypsy made an unexpected dart into the barn-door, through the
+barn, and out into the yard, before Missy realized the capricious
+creature's intent. And, as luck would have it, the Reverend MacGill
+was sitting on the porch, calling on Grandma Shears. If only it had
+been anybody but Rev. MacGill! Missy cherished a secret but profound
+admiration for Rev. MacGill; he had come recently to Cherryvale and
+was younger than ministers usually are and, though not exactly
+handsome, had fascinating dark glowing eyes. Now, as his eyes turned
+toward her, she suddenly prickled with embarrassment--her legs were
+showing to her knees! She tried vainly to pull down her skirt, then
+tried to head Gypsy toward the barn. But Grandma Shears, in
+scandalized tones, called out:
+
+"Why, Melissa Merriam! Get down off that horse immediately!"
+
+Shamefacedly Missy obeyed, but none too gracefully since her legs
+were not yet accustomed to that straddling position.
+
+"What in the world will you girls be up to next?" Grandma Shears
+went on, looking like an outraged Queen Victoria. "I don't know what
+this generation's coming to," she lamented, turning to the minister.
+"Young girls try to act like hoodlums--deliberately TRY! In my day
+girls were trained to be--and desired to be--little ladies."
+
+Little ladies!--in the minister's presence, the phrase didn't fall
+pleasantly on Missy's ear.
+
+"Oh, they don't mean any harm," he replied. "Just a little innocent
+frolic."
+
+There was a ghost of a twinkle in his eyes. Missy didn't know
+whether to be grateful for his tolerance or only more chagrined
+because he was laughing at her. She stood, feeling red as a beet,
+while Grandma Shears retorted:
+
+"Innocent frolic--nonsense! I'll speak to my daughter!" Then, to
+Missy: "Now take that pony back to the lot, please, and let's see no
+more such disgraceful exhibitions!"
+
+Missy felt as though she'd been whipped. She felt cold all over and
+shivered, as she led Gypsy back, though she knew she was blushing
+furiously. Concealed behind the barn door, peeping through a crack,
+was Tess.
+
+"It was awful!" moaned Missy. "I can never face Rev. MacGill again!"
+
+"Oh, he's a good sport," said Tess.
+
+"She gave me an awful calling down."
+
+"Oh, grandma's an old fogy." Missy had heard Tess thus pigeonhole
+her grandmother often before, but now, for the first time, she
+didn't feel a little secret repugnance for the rude classification.
+
+Grandma Shears WAS old-fogyish. But it wasn't her old-fogyishness,
+per se, that irritated; it was the fact that her old-fogyishness had
+made her "call down" Missy--in front of the minister. Just as if
+Missy were a child. Fifteen is not a child, to itself. And it can
+rankle and burn, when a pair of admired dark eyes are included in
+the situation, just as torturesomely as can twice fifteen.
+
+The Reverend MacGill was destined to play another unwitting part in
+Missy's athletic drama which was so jumbled with ecstasies and
+discomfitures. A few days later he was invited to the Merriams' for
+supper. Missy heard of his coming with mingled emotions. Of course
+she thrilled at the prospect of eating at the same table with him--
+listening to a person at table, and watching him eat, gives you a
+singular sense of intimacy. But there was that riding astride
+episode. Would he, maybe, mention it and cause mother to ask
+questions? Maybe not, for he was, as Tess had said, a "good sport."
+But all the same he'd probably be thinking of it; if he should look
+at her again with that amused twinkle, she felt she would die of
+shame.
+
+That afternoon she had been out on Gypsy and, chancing to ride by
+home on her way back to the sanitarium barn, was hailed by her
+mother.
+
+"Missy! I want you to gather some peaches!"
+
+"Well, I'll have to take Gypsy home first."
+
+"No, you won't have time--it's after five already, and I want to
+make a deep-dish peach pie. I hear Rev. MacGill's especially fond of
+it. You can take Gypsy home after supper. Now hurry up!--I'm
+behindhand already."
+
+So Missy led Gypsy into the yard and took the pail her mother
+brought out to her.
+
+"The peaches aren't quite ripe," said mother, with a little worried
+pucker, "but they'll have to do. They have some lovely peaches at
+Picker's, but papa won't hear of my trading at Picker's any more."
+
+Missy thought it silly of her father to have curtailed trading at
+Picker's--she missed Arthur's daily visit to the kitchen door with
+the delivery-basket--merely because Mr. Picker had beaten father for
+election on the Board of Aldermen. Father explained it was a larger
+issue than party politics; even had Picker been a Republican he'd
+have fought him, he said, for everyone knew Picker was abetting the
+Waterworks graft. But Missy didn't see why that should keep him from
+buying things from Picker's which mother really needed; mother said
+it was "cutting off your nose to spite your face."
+
+Philosophizing on the irrationality of old people, she proceeded to
+get enough scarcely-ripe peaches for a deep-dish pie. Being horribly
+afraid of climbing, she used the simple expedient of grasping the
+lower limbs of the tree and shaking down the fruit.
+
+"Missy!" called mother's voice from the dining room window. "That
+horse is slobbering all over the peaches!" "I can't help it--she
+follows me every place."
+
+"Then you'll have to tie her up!"
+
+"Tess never ties her up in THEIR yard!"
+
+"Well, I won't have him slobbering over the fruit," repeated mother
+firmly.
+
+"I'll--climb the tree," said Missy desperately.
+
+And she did. She was in mortal terror--every second she was sure she
+was going to fall--but she couldn't bear the vision of Gypsy's
+reproachful eyes above a strangling halter; Gypsy shouldn't think
+her hostess, so to speak, less kind than her own mistress.
+
+The peach pie came out beautifully and the supper promised to be a
+great success. Mother had zealously ascertained Rev. MacGill's
+favourite dishes, and was flushed but triumphant; she came of a
+devout family that loved to feed preachers well. And everyone was in
+fine spirits; only Missy, at the first, had a few bad moments. WOULD
+he mention it? He might think it his duty, think that mother should
+know. It was maybe his duty to tell. Preachers have a sterner creed
+of duty than other people, of course. She regarded him anxiously
+from under the veil of her lashes, wondering what would happen if he
+did tell. Mother would be horribly ashamed, and she herself would be
+all the more ashamed because mother was. Aunt Nettie would be
+satirically disapproving and say cutting things. Father would
+probably just laugh, but later he'd be serious and severe. And not
+one of them would ever, ever understand.
+
+As the minutes went by, her strain of suspense gradually lessened.
+Rev. MacGill was chatting away easily--about the delicious chicken-
+stuffing and quince jelly, and the election, and the repairs on the
+church steeple, and things like that. Now and then he caught Missy's
+eye, but his expression for her was exactly the same as for the
+others--no one could suspect there was any secret between them. He
+WAS a good sport!
+
+Once a shadow passed outside the window. Gypsy! Missy saw that he
+saw, and, as his glance came back to rest upon herself, for a second
+her heart surged. But something in his eyes--she couldn't define
+exactly what it was save that it was neither censorious nor
+quizzical--subtly gave her reassurance. It was as if he had told her
+in so many words that everything was all right, for her not to worry
+the least little bit. All of a sudden she felt blissfully at peace.
+She smiled at him for no reason at all, and he smiled back--a nice,
+not at all amused kind of smile. Oh, he was a perfect brick! And
+what glorious eyes he had! And that fascinating habit of flinging
+his hair back with a quick toss of the head. How gracefully he used
+his hands. And what lovely, distinguished table manners--she must
+practice that trick of lifting your napkin, delicately and swiftly,
+so as to barely touch your lips. She ate her own food in a kind of
+trance, unaware of what she was eating; yet it was like eating
+supper in heaven.
+
+And then, at the very end, something terrible happened. Marguerite
+had brought in the pie'ce de re'sistance, the climactic dish toward
+which mother had built the whole meal--the deep-dish peach pie,
+sugar-coated, fragrant and savory--and placed it on the serving-
+table near the open window. There was a bit, of wire loose at the
+lower end of the screen, and, in the one second Marguerite's back
+was turned--just one second, but just long enough--Missy saw a
+velvety nose fumble with the loose wire, saw a sleek neck wedge
+itself through the crevice, and a long red tongue lap approvingly
+over the sugar-coated crust.
+
+Missy gasped audibly. Mother followed her eyes, turned, saw, jumped
+up--but it was too late. Mrs. Merriam viciously struck at Gypsy's
+muzzle and pushed the encroaching head back through the aperture.
+
+"Get away from here!" she cried angrily. "You little beast!"
+
+"I think the pony shows remarkably good taste," commented Rev.
+MacGill, trying to pass the calamity off as a joke. But his hostess
+wasn't capable of an answering smile; she gazed despairingly,
+tragically, at the desecrated confection.
+
+"I took such pains with it," she almost wailed. "It was a deep-dish
+peach pie--I made it specially for Mr. MacGill."
+
+"Well, I'm not particularly fond of peach pie, anyway," said the
+minister, meaning to be soothing.
+
+"Oh, but I know you ARE! Mrs. Allen said that at her house you took
+two helpings-that you said it was your favourite dessert."
+
+The minister coughed a little cough--he was caught in a somewhat
+delicate situation; then, always tactful, replied: "Perhaps I did
+say that--her peach pie was very good. But I'm equally fond of all
+sweets--I have a sweet tooth."
+
+At this point Missy gathered her courage to quaver a suggestion.
+"Couldn't you just take off the top crust, mother? Gypsy didn't
+touch the underneath part. Why can't you just--"
+
+But her mother's scandalized look silenced her. She must have made a
+faux pas. Father and Rev. MacGill laughed outright, and Aunt Nettie
+smiled a withering smile.
+
+"That's a brilliant idea," she said satirically. "Perhaps you'd have
+us pick out the untouched bits of the crust, too!" Missy regarded
+her aunt reproachfully but helplessly; she was too genuinely upset
+for any repartee. Why did Aunt Nettie like to put her "in wrong"?
+Her suggestion seemed to her perfectly reasonable. Why didn't they
+act on it? But of course they'd ignore it, just making fun of her
+now but punishing her afterward. For she divined very accurately
+that they would hold her accountable for Gypsy's blunder--even
+though the blunder was rectifiable; it was a BIG pie, and most of it
+as good as ever. They were unreasonable, unjust.
+
+Mother seemed unable to tear herself away from the despoiled
+masterpiece.
+
+"Come, mamma," said father, "it's nothing to make such a fuss about.
+Just trot out some of that apple sauce of yours. Mr. MacGill doesn't
+get to taste anything like that every day." He turned to the
+minister. "The world's full of apple sauce--but there's apple sauce
+and apple sauce. Now my wife's apple sauce is APPLE SAUCE! I tell
+her it's a dish for a king."
+
+And Rev. MacGill, after sampling the impromptu dessert, assured his
+hostess that her husband's eulogy had been only too moderate. He
+vowed he had never eaten such apple sauce. But Mrs. Merriam still
+looked bleak. She knew she could make a better deep-dish peach pie
+than Mrs. Allen could. And, then, to give the minister apple sauce
+and nabiscos!--the first time he had eaten at her table in two
+months!
+
+Missy, who knew her mother well, couldn't help feeling a deep degree
+of sympathy; besides, she wished Rev. MacGill might have had his
+pie--she liked Rev. MacGill better than ever. But she dreaded her
+first moments after the guest had departed; mother could be terribly
+stern.
+
+Nor did her fears prove groundless.
+
+"Now, Missy," ordered her mother in coldly irate tones, "you take
+that horse straight back to Tess. This is the last straw! For days
+you've been no earthly use--your practicing neglected, no time for
+your chores, just nothing but that everlasting horse!"
+
+That everlasting horse! Missy's chin quivered and her eyes filled.
+But mother went on inflexibly: "I don't want you ever to bring it
+here again. And you can't go on living at Tess's, either! We'll see
+that you catch up with your practicing."
+
+"But, mother," tremulously seeking for an argument, "I oughtn't to
+give up such a fine chance to become a horsewoman, ought I?"
+
+It was an unlucky phrase, for Aunt Nettie was there to catch it up.
+
+"A horsewoman!" and she laughed in sardonic glee. "Well, I must
+admit there's one thing horsey enough about you--you always smell of
+manure, these days."
+
+Wounded and on the defensive, Missy tried to make her tone chilly.
+"I wish you wouldn't be so indelicate, Aunt Nettie," she said.
+
+But Aunt Nettie wasn't abashed. "A horsewoman!" she chortled again.
+"I suppose Missy sees herself riding to hounds! All dressed up in a
+silk hat and riding-breeches like pictures of society people back
+East!"
+
+It didn't add to Missy's comfiture to know she had, in truth,
+harboured this ridiculed vision of herself. She coloured and stood
+hesitant.
+
+"Someone ought to put pants on that O'Neill girl, anyway," continued
+Aunt Nettie with what seemed to her niece unparallelled malice.
+"Helen Alison says the Doctor saw her out in the country riding
+astraddle. Her mother ought to spank her."
+
+Mother looked at Missy sharply. "Don't let me ever hear of YOU doing
+anything like that!"
+
+Missy hung her head, but luckily mother took it for just a general
+attitude of dejection. "I can't tolerate tomboys." she went on. "I
+can't imagine what's come over you lately."
+
+"It's that O'Neill girl," said Aunt Nettie.
+
+Mother sighed; Missy couldn't know she was lamenting the loss of her
+sweet, shy, old-fashioned little girl. But when she spoke next her
+accents were firm.
+
+"Now you go and take that horse home. But come straight back and get
+to bed so you can get an early start at your practicing in the
+morning. Right here I'm going to put my foot down. It isn't because
+I want to be harsh--but you never seem to know when to stop a thing.
+It's all well and good to be fond of dumb animals, but when it comes
+to a point where you can think of nothing else--"
+
+The outstanding import of the terrific and unjust tirade was that
+Missy should not go near the sanitarium or the pony for a week.
+
+When mother "put her foot down" like that, hope was gone, indeed.
+And a whole week! That was a long, long time when hope is deferred--
+especially when one is fifteen and all days are long. At first Missy
+didn't see how she was ever to live through the endless period, but,
+strangely enough, the dragging days brought to her a change of mood.
+It is odd how the colour of our mood, so to speak, can utterly
+change; how one day we can desire one kind of thing acutely and
+then, the very next day, crave something quite different.
+
+One morning Missy awoke to a dawn of mildest sifted light and
+bediamonded dew upon the grass; soft plumes of silver, through the
+mist, seemed to trim the vines of the summerhouse and made her catch
+her breath in ecstasy. All of a sudden she wanted nothing so much as
+to get a book and steal off alone somewhere. The right kind of a
+book, of course--something sort of strange and sad that would make
+your strange, sad feelings mount up and up inside you till you could
+almost die of your beautiful sorrow.
+
+As soon as her routine of duties was finished she gained permission
+to go to the Library. As she walked slowly, musingly, down Maple
+Avenue, her emotions were fallow ground for every touch of Nature:
+the slick greensward of all the lawns, glistening under the torrid
+azure of the great arched sky, made walking along the shady sidewalk
+inexpressibly sweet; the many-hued flowers in all the flowerbeds
+seemed to sing out their vying colours; the strong hard wind passed
+almost visible fingers through the thick, rustling mane of the
+trees. Oh, she hoped she would find the right kind of book!
+
+Mother, back on the porch, looked up from her sewing to watch the
+disappearing figure, and smiled.
+
+"We have our little girl back again," she observed to Aunt Nettie.
+
+"I wish that O'Neill girl'd move away," Aunt Nettie said. "Missy's a
+regular chameleon."
+
+It's a pity Missy couldn't hear her new classification; it would
+have interested her tremendously; she was always interested in the
+perplexing vagaries of her own nature. However, at the Library, she
+was quite happy: for she found two books, each the right kind,
+though different. One was called "Famous Heroines of Medieval
+Legend." They all had names of strange beauty and splendour--
+Guinevere--Elaine--Vivien--names which softly rustled in syllables
+of silken brocade. The other book was no less satisfying. It was a
+book of poems--wonderful poems, by a man named Swinburne--lilting,
+haunting things of beauty which washed through her soul like the
+waves of a sun-bejewelled sea. She read the choicest verses over and
+over till she knew them by heart:
+
+Before the beginning of years, there came to the making of man Grief
+with her gift of tears, and Time with her glass that ran . . .
+
+and, equally lovely:
+
+From too much love of living, from hope and fear set free, We thank
+with brief thanksgiving whatever gods may be That no life lives
+forever; that dead men rise up never; That even the weariest river
+winds somewhere safe to sea . . .
+
+The verses brought her beautiful, stirring thoughts to weave into
+verses of her own when she should find a quiet hour in the
+summerhouse; or to incorporate into soul-soothing improvisings at
+the piano.
+
+Next morning, after her hour's stint at finger exercises, she
+improvised and it went beautifully. She knew it was a success both
+because of her exalted feelings and because Poppy meowed out in
+discordant disapproval only once; the rest of the time Poppy purred
+as appreciatively as for "The Maiden's Prayer." Dear Poppy! Missy
+felt suddenly contrite for her defection from faithful Poppy. And
+Poppy was getting old--Aunt Nettie said she'd already lived much
+longer than most cats. She might die soon. Through a swift blur of
+tears Missy looked out toward the summerhouse where, beneath the
+ramblers, she decided Poppy should be buried. Poor Poppy! The tears
+came so fast she couldn't wipe them away. She didn't dream that
+Swinburne was primarily responsible for those tears.
+
+Yet even her sadness held a strange, poignant element of bliss. It
+struck her, oddly, that she was almost enjoying her week of
+punishment--that she WAS enjoying it. Why was she enjoying it,
+since, when mother first banned athletic pursuits, she had felt like
+a martyr? It was queer. She pondered the mysterious complexity of
+her nature.
+
+There passed two more days of this inexplicable content. Then came
+the thunder-storm. It was, perhaps, the thunder-storm that really
+deserves the blame for Missy's climactic athletic catastrophe. No
+lightning-bolt struck, yet that thunder-storm indubitably played its
+part in Missy's athletic destiny. It was the causation of renewed
+turmoil after time of peace.
+
+Tess had telephoned that morning and asked Missy to accompany her to
+the Library. But Missy had to practice. In her heart she didn't
+really care to go, for, after her stint was finished, she was
+contemplating some new improvisings. However, the morning didn't go
+well. It was close and sultry and, though she tried to make her
+fingers march and trot and gallop as the exercises dictated,
+something in the oppressive air set her nerves to tingling. Besides
+it grew so dark she couldn't see the notes distinctly. Finally she
+abandoned her lesson; but even improvising failed of its wonted
+charm. Her fingers kept striking the wrong keys. Then a sudden, ear-
+splitting thunder-clap hurled her onto a shrieking discord.
+
+She jumped up from the piano; she was horribly afraid of thunder-
+storms--mother wouldn't mind if she stopped till the storm was over.
+She longed to go and sit close to mother, to feel the protection of
+her presence; but, despite the general softening of her mood, she
+had maintained a certain stiffness toward the family. So she
+crouched on a sofa in the darkest corner of the room, hiding her
+eyes, stopping her ears.
+
+Then a sudden thought brought her bolt upright. Gypsy! Tess had said
+Gypsy was afraid of thunder-storms--awfully afraid. And Gypsy was
+all alone in that big, gloomy barn--Tess blocks away at the Library.
+
+She tried to hide amongst the cushions again, but visions of Gypsy,
+with her bright inquisitive eyes, her funny little petulances, her
+endearing cajoleries, kept rising before her. She felt a stab of
+remorse; that she could have let even the delights of reading and
+improvising compensate for separation from such a darling pony. She
+had been selfish, selfcentred. And now Gypsy was alone in that old
+barn, trembling and neighing. . .
+
+Finally, unable to endure the picture longer, she crept out to the
+hall. She could hear mother and Aunt Nettie in the sitting-room--she
+couldn't get an umbrella from the closet. So, without umbrella or
+hat, she stole out the front door. Above was a continuous network of
+flame as though someone were scratching immense matches all over the
+surface of heaven, but doggedly she ran on. The downpour caught her,
+but on she sped though rain and hail hammered her head, blinded her
+eyes, and drove her drenched garments against her flesh.
+
+She found Gypsy huddled quivering and taut in a corner of the stall.
+She put her arms round the satiny neck, and they mutely comforted
+each other. It was thus that Tess discovered them; she, too, had run
+to Gypsy though it had taken longer as she had farther to go; but
+she was not so wet as Missy, having borrowed an umbrella at the
+Library.
+
+"_I_ didn't wait to get an umbrella," Missy couldn't forebear
+commenting, slightly slurring the truth.
+
+Tess seemed a bit annoyed. "Well, you didn't HAVE to go out in the
+rain anyway. Guess I can be depended on to look out for my own pony,
+can't I?"
+
+But Missy's tactful rejoinder that she'd only feared Tess mightn't
+be able to accomplish the longer distance, served to dissipate the
+shadow of jealousy. Before the summer storm had impetuously spent
+itself, the friends were crowded companionably in the feed-box,
+feeding the reassured Gypsy peppermint sticks--Tess had met Arthur
+Simpson on her way to the Library--and talking earnestly.
+
+The earnest talk was born of an illustration Tess had seen in a
+magazine at the Library. It was a society story and the illustration
+showed the heroine in riding costume.
+
+"She looked awfully swagger," related Tess. "Flicking her crop
+against her boot, and a derby hat and stock-collar and riding-
+breeches. I think breeches are a lot more swagger than habits."
+
+"Do you think they're a little bit--indelicate?" ventured Missy,
+remembering her mother's recent invective against tomboys.
+
+"Of course not!" denied Tess disdainfully. "Valerie Jones in Macon
+City wears 'em and she's awfully swell. Her father's a banker. She's
+in the thick of things at the Country Club. It's depasse to ride
+side-saddle, anyway."
+
+Missy was silent; even when she felt herself misunderstood by her
+family and maltreated, she had a bothersome conscience.
+
+"There's no real class to riding horseback," Tess went on, "unless
+you're up to date. You got to be up to date. Of course Cherryvale's
+slow, but that's no reason we've got to be slow, is it?"
+
+"No-o," agreed Missy hesitantly. But she was emboldened to mention
+her father's discarded pepper-and-salt trousers. At the first she
+didn't intend really to appropriate them, but Tess caught up the
+idea enthusiastically. She immediately began making concrete plans
+and, soon, Missy caught her fervour. That picture of herself as a
+dashing, fearless horsewoman had come to life again.
+
+When she got home, mother, looking worried, was waiting for her.
+
+"Where on earth have you been? Look at that straggly hair! And that
+dress, fresh just this morning--limp as a dish-rag!"
+
+Missy tried to explain, but the anxiety between mother's eyes
+deepened to lines of crossness.
+
+"For heaven's sake! To go rushing off like that without a rain-coat
+or even an umbrella! And you pretend to be afraid of thunder-storms!
+Now, Missy, it isn't because you've ruined your dress or likely
+caught your death of cold--but to think you'd wilfully disobey me!
+What on earth AM I to do with you?"
+
+She made Missy feel like an unregenerate sinner. And Missy liked her
+stinging, smarting sensations no better because she felt she didn't
+deserve them. That heavy sense of injustice somewhat deadened any
+pricks of guilt when, later, she stealthily removed the pepper-and-
+salts from the upstairs store-closet.
+
+But Aunt Nettie's eagle eyes chanced to see her. She went to Mrs.
+Merriam.
+
+"What do you suppose Missy wants of those old pepper-and-salt
+pants?"
+
+"I don't know, Nettie. Why?"
+
+"She's just sneaked 'em off to her room. When she saw me coming up
+the stairs, she scampered as if Satan was after her. What DO you
+suppose she wants of them?"
+
+"I can't imagine," repeated Mrs. Merriam. "Maybe she hardly knows
+herself--girls that age are like a boiling tea-kettle; yon know;
+their imagination keeps bubbling up and spilling over, and then
+disappears into vapour. I sometimes think we bother Missy too much
+with questions--she doesn't know the answers herself."
+
+Mrs. Merriam was probably feeling the compunctions mothers often
+feel after they have scolded.
+
+Aunt Nettie sniffed a little, but Missy wasn't questioned. And now
+the scene of our story may shift to a sunny morning, a few days
+later, and to the comparative seclusion of the sanitarium barn.
+There has been, for an hour or more, a suppressed sound of giggles,
+and Gypsy, sensing excitement in the air, stands with pricked-up
+ears and bright, inquisitive eyes. Luckily there has been no
+intruder--just the three of them, Gypsy and Missy and Tess.
+
+"You're wonderful--simply wonderful! It's simply too swagger for
+words!" It was Tess speaking.
+
+Missy gazed down at herself. It WAS swagger, she assured herself. It
+must be swagger--Tess said so. Almost as swagger, Tess asseverated,
+as the riding outfit worn by Miss Valerie Jones who was the
+swaggerest member of Macon City's swaggerest young set. Yet, despite
+her assurance of swaggerness, she was conscious of a certain
+uneasiness. She knew she shouldn't feel embarrassed; she should feel
+only swagger. But she couldn't help a sense of awkwardness, almost
+of distaste; her legs felt--and LOOKED--so queer! So conspicuous!
+The upper halves of them were clothed in two separate envelopments
+of pepper-and-salt material, gathered very full and puffy over the
+hips but drawn in tightly toward the knee in a particularly swagger
+fashion. Below the knee the swagger tight effect was sustained by a
+pair of long buttoned "leggings."
+
+"You're sure these leggings look all right?" she demanded anxiously.
+
+"Of course they look all right! They look fine!"
+
+"I wish we had some boots," with a smothered sigh.
+
+"Well, they don't ALWAYS wear boots. Lots of 'em in Macon City only
+wore puttees. And puttees are only a kind of leggings."
+
+"They're so tight," complained the horsewoman. "My legs have got a
+lot fatter since--"
+
+Thrusting out one of the mentioned members in a tentative kick, she
+was interrupted by the popping of an already overstrained button.
+
+"SEE!" she finished despondently. "I SAID they were too tight."
+
+"You oughtn't to kick around that way," reproved Tess. "No wonder it
+popped off. Now, I'll have to hunt for a safety-pin--"
+
+"I don't want a safety-pin!--I'd rather let it flop."
+
+The horsewoman continued to survey herself dubiously, took in the
+bright scarlet sweater which formed the top part of her costume. The
+girls had first sought a more tailored variety of coat, but peres
+Merriam and O'Neill were both, selfishly, very large men; Tess had
+brilliantly bethought the sweater--the English always wore scarlet
+for hunting, anyway. Missy then had warmly applauded the
+inspiration, but now her warmth was literal rather than figurative;
+it was a hot day and the sweater was knitted of heavy wool. She
+fingered her stock collar--one of Mrs. O'Neill's guest towels--and
+tried to adjust her derby more securely.
+
+"Your father has an awfully big head," she commented. "Oh, they
+always wear their hats way down over their ears." Then, a little
+vexed at this necessity for repeated reassurance, Tess broke out
+irritably:
+
+"If you don't want to wear the get-up, say so! I'LL wear it! I only
+let you wear it first trying to be nice to you!"
+
+Then Missy, who had been genuinely moved by Tess's decision that the
+first wearing of the costume should make up for her chum's week of
+punishment, pulled herself together.
+
+"Of course I want to wear it," she declared. "I think it's just fine
+of you to let me wear it first."
+
+She spoke sincerely; yet, within the hour, she was plotting to
+return her friend's sacrifice with a sort of mean trick. Perhaps it
+was fit and just that the trick turned topsy-turvy on herself as it
+did. Yet the notion did not come to her in the guise of a trick on
+Tess. No; it came just as a daring, dashing, splendid feat in which
+she herself should triumphantly figure--she scarcely thought of Tess
+at all.
+
+It came upon her, in all its dazzling possibilities, while she was
+cantering along the old road which runs back of Smith's woods. She
+and Tess had agreed it would be best, till they'd "broke in"
+Cherryvale to the novelty of breeches, to keep to unfrequented
+roads. But it was the inconspicuousness of the route, the lack of an
+admiring audience, which gave birth to Missy's startling Idea. Back
+in the barn she'd felt self-conscious. But now she was getting used
+to her exposed legs. And doing really splendidly on Dr. O'Neill's
+saddle. Sitting there astride, swaying in gentle rhythm with Gypsy's
+springing motion she began to feel truly dashing, supremely swagger.
+She seemed lifted out of herself, no longer timid, commonplace,
+unathletic Missy Merriam, but exalted into a sort of free-and-easy,
+Princess Royal of Swaggerdom. She began to wish someone might see
+her. . .
+
+Then startling, compelling, tantalizing, came the Idea. Why not ride
+openly back into Cherryvale, right up Main Street, right by the Post
+Office? All those old loafers would see her who'd laughed the day
+she tumbled off of Ned. Well, they'd laugh the other way, now. And
+Arthur Simpson, too. Maybe she'd even ride into Pieker's store!--
+that certainly would surprise Arthur. True it was Tess he'd "dared,"
+but of course he had not dreamed SHE, Missy, would ever take it up.
+He considered her unathletic--sort of ridiculous. Wouldn't it be
+great to "show" him? She visioned the amazement, the admiration, the
+respect, which would shine in his eyes as, insouciantly and yet with
+dash, she deftly manoeuvred Gypsy's reins and cantered right into
+the store!
+
+Afterwards she admitted that a sort of madness must have seized her;
+yet, as she raced back toward the town, gently swaying in unison
+with her mount, her pepper-and-salt legs pressing the pony's sides
+with authority, she felt complacently, exultantly sane.
+
+And still so when, blithe and debonair, she galloped up Main Street,
+past piazzas she pleasurably sensed were not unpeopled nor
+unimpressed; past the Court House whence a group of men were
+emerging and stopped dead to stare; past the Post Office where a
+crowd awaiting the noon mail swelled the usual bunch of loafers; on
+to Pieker's where, sure enough, Arthur stood in the door!
+
+"Holy cats!" he ejaculated. "Where in the world did--"
+
+"Dare me to ride in the store?" demanded Missy, flicking the air
+with her crop and speaking insouciantly. She was scarcely aware of
+the excited sounds from the Post Office, for as yet her madness was
+upon her.
+
+"Oh, I don't think you could get her in!--You'd better not try!"
+
+Missy exulted--he looked as if actually afraid she might attempt it!
+As a matter of fact Arthur was afraid; he was afraid Missy Merriam
+had suddenly gone out of her head. There was a queer look in her
+eyes--she didn't look herself at all. He was afraid she might really
+do that crazy stunt; and he was afraid the boss might return from
+lunch any second, and catch her doing it and blame HIM! Yes, Arthur
+Simpson was afraid; and Missy's blood sang at the spectacle of
+happy-go-lucky Arthur reduced to manifest anxiety.
+
+"CAN'T get her in?" she retorted derisively. "Just watch me!"
+
+And, patting Gypsy's glossy neck, she headed her mount directly
+toward the sidewalk and clattered straight into Pieker's store."
+
+Arthur had barely time to jump out of the way. "Holy cats!" he again
+invoked fervently. Then: "Head her out!--She's slobbering over that
+bucket of candy!"
+
+True enough; Gypsy's inquisitive nose had led her to a bewildering
+profusion of the sweets she adored; not just meagre little bits,
+doled out to her stingily bite by bite. And, as if these delectables
+had been set out for a special and royal feast, Gypsy tasted this
+corner and sampled that, in gourmandish abandon.
+
+"For Pete's sake!" implored Arthur, feverishly tugging at the
+bridle. "Get her out! The old man's liable to get back any minute!--
+He won't do a thing to me!"
+
+Missy, then, catching some of his perturbation, slapped with the
+reins, stroked Gypsy's neck, exhorted her with endearments and then
+with threats. But Gypsy wouldn't budge; she was having, unexpectedly
+but ecstatically, the time of her career. Missy climbed down; urged
+and cajoled, joined Arthur in tugging at the bridle. Gypsy only
+planted her dainty forefeet and continued her repast in a manner not
+dainty at all. Missy began to feel a little desperate; that former
+fine frenzy, that divine madness, that magnificent tingle of aplomb
+and dash, was dwindling away. She was conscious of a crowd
+collecting in the doorway; there suddenly seemed to be millions of
+people in the store--rude, pushing, chortling phantoms as in some
+dreadful nightmare. Hot, prickling waves began to wash over her.
+They were laughing at her. Spurred by the vulgar guffaws she gave
+another frantic tug--
+
+Oh, dear heaven! The upper air suddenly thickened with sounds of
+buzzing conflict--a family of mud-wasps, roused by the excitement,
+were circling round and round! She saw them in terrified
+fascination--they were scattering!--zizzing horribly, threateningly
+as they swooped this way and that! Heavens!--that one brushed her
+hand. She tried to shrink back--then gave an anguished squeal.
+
+WHAT WAS THAT? But she knew what it was. In petrified panic she
+stood stock-still, rooted. She was afraid to move lest it sting her
+more viciously. She could feel it exploring around--up near her hip
+now, now crawling downward, now for a second lost in some voluminous
+fold. She found time to return thanks that her breeches had been cut
+with that smart bouffance. Then she cringed as she felt it again.
+How had It got in there? The realization that she must have torn her
+pepper-and-salts, for a breath brought embarrassment acutely to the
+fore; then, as that tickling promenade over her anatomy was resumed,
+she froze under paramount fear.
+
+"For Pete's sake!" shouted Arthur. "Don't just stand there!--can't
+you do SOMETHING?"
+
+But Missy could do nothing. Removing Gypsy was no longer the
+paramount issue. Ready to die of shame but at the same time
+engripped by deadly terror, she stood, legs wide apart, for her
+life's sake unable to move. She had lost count of time, but was
+agonizedly aware of its passage; she seemed to stand there in that
+anguished stupor for centuries. In reality it was but a second
+before she heard Arthur's voice again:
+
+"For Heaven's sake!" he muttered, calamity's approach intensifying
+his abjurgations. "There's the old man!"
+
+Apprehensively, abasedly, but with legs still stolidly apart, Missy
+looked up. Yes, there was Mr. Picker, elbowing his way through the
+crowd. Then an icy trickle chilled her spine; following Mr. Picker,
+carrying his noon mail, was Rev. MacGill.
+
+"Here!--What's this?" demanded Mr. Picker.
+
+Then she heard Arthur, that craven-hearted, traitor-souled being she
+had once called "friend," that she had even desired to impress,--she
+heard him saying:
+
+"I don't know, Mr. Picker. She just came riding in--"
+
+Mr. Picker strode to the centre of the stage and, by a simple
+expedient strangely unthought-of before--by merely pulling away the
+bucket, separated Gypsy from the candy.
+
+Then he turned to Missy and eyed her disapprovingly.
+
+"I think you'd better be taking the back cut home. If I was your
+mamma, I'd give you a good spanking and put you to bed."
+
+Spanking! Oh, shades of insouciance and swagger! And with Rev.
+MacGill standing there hearing--and seeing! Tears rolled down over
+her blushes.
+
+"Here, I'll help you get her out," said Rev. MacGill, kindly. Missy
+blessed him for his kindness, yet, just then, she felt she'd rather
+have been stung to death than to have had him there. But he was
+there, and he led Gypsy, quite tractable now the candy was gone, and
+herself looking actually embarrassed, through the crowd and back to
+the street.
+
+High moments have a way, sometimes, of resolving their prime and
+unreducible factors, all of a sudden, to disconcertingly simple
+terms. Here was Gypsy, whose stubbornness had begun it all, suddenly
+soft as silk; and there was the wasp, who had brought on the
+horrendous climax, suddenly and mysteriously vanished. Of course
+Missy was glad the wasp was gone--otherwise she might have stood
+there, dying of shame, till she did die of shame--yet the sudden
+solution of her dilemma made her feel in another way absurd.
+
+But there was little room for such a paltry emotion as absurdity.
+Rev. MacGill volunteered to deliver Gypsy to her stall--oh, he was
+wonderful, though she almost wished he'd have to leave town
+unexpectedly; she didn't see how she'd ever face him again--but she
+knew there was a reckoning waiting at home.
+
+It was a painful and unforgettable scene. Mother had heard already;
+father had telephoned from the office. Missy supposed all Cherryvale
+was telephoning but she deferred thoughts of her wider disgrace; at
+present mother was enough. Mother was fearfully angry--Missy knew
+she would never understand. She said harsher things than she'd ever
+said before. Making such a spectacle of herself!--her own daughter,
+whom she'd tried to train to be a lady! This feature of the
+situation seemed to stir mother almost more violently than the
+flagrant disobedience.
+
+"It's all that O'Neill girl," said Aunt Nettie. "Ever since she came
+here to live, Missy's been up to just one craziness after another."
+
+Mother looked out the window and sighed. Missy was suddenly
+conscious that she loved her mother very much; despite the fact that
+mother had just said harsh things, that she was going to punish her,
+that she never understood. A longing welled up in her to fling her
+arms round mother's neck and assure her that she never MEANT to be a
+spectacle, that she had only--
+
+But what was the use of trying to explain? Mother wouldn't
+understand and she couldn't explain it in words, anyway--not even to
+herself. So she stood first on one foot and then on the other, and
+felt perfectly inadequate and miserable.
+
+At last, wanting frightfully to say something that would ameliorate
+her conduct somewhat in mother's eyes, she said:
+
+"I guess it WAS an awful thing to do, mother. And I'm AWFULLY sorry.
+But it wouldn't have come out quite so bad--I could have managed
+Gypsy better, I think--if it hadn't been for that old wasp."
+
+"Wasp?" questioned mother.
+
+"Yes, there was a lot of mud-wasps got to flying around and one some
+way got inside of my--my breeches. And you know how scared to death
+I am of wasps. I KNOW I could have managed Gypsy, but when I felt
+that wasp crawling around--" She broke off; tried again. "Don't
+think I couldn't manage her--but when I felt that--"
+
+"Well, if the wasp was all that was the matter,'' queried mother,
+"why didn't you go after it?"
+
+Missy didn't reply.
+
+"Why did you just stand there and let it keep stinging you?"
+
+Missy opened her lips but quickly closed them again. She realized
+there was something inconsistent in her explanation. Mother had
+accused her of immodesty: riding astride and wearing those
+scandalous pepper-and-salts and showing her legs. If mother was
+right, if she WAS brazen, somehow it didn't tie up to claim
+confusion because her--
+
+Oh, legs!
+
+She didn't try to explain. With hanging head she went meekly to her
+room. Mother had ruled she must stay there, in disgrace, till father
+came home and a proper punishment was decided upon.
+
+It was not a short or glad afternoon.
+
+At supper father came up to see her. He was disapproving, of course,
+though she felt that his heart wasn't entirely unsympathetic. Even
+though he told her Mr. Picker had made him pay for the bucket of
+candy. Missy knew it must have gone hard with him to be put in the
+wrong by Mr. Picker.
+
+"Oh, father, I'm sorry!--I really am!"
+
+Father patted her hand. He was an angel.
+
+"Did you bring it home?" brightening at a thought.
+
+"Bring what home?" asked father.
+
+"Why, the candy."
+
+"Of course not."
+
+"I don't see why, if you had to pay for it. The bottom part wasn't
+hurt at all."
+
+Father laughed then, actually laughed. She was glad to see the
+serious look removed from his face; but she still begrudged all that
+candy.
+
+Nor was that the end of the part played by the candy. That night, as
+she was kneeling in her nightgown by the window, gazing out at the
+white moonlight and trying to summon the lovely thoughts the night's
+magic used to bring, the door opened softly and mother came
+tiptoeing in.
+
+"You ought to be in bed, dear," she said. No, Missy reflected, she
+could never, never be really cross with mother. She climbed into bed
+and, with a certain degree of comfort, watched mother smooth up the
+sheet and fold the counterpane carefully over the foot-rail.
+
+"Mrs. O'Neill just phoned," mother said. "Tess is very sick. It
+seems she and Arthur got hold of that bucket of candy."
+
+"Oh," said Missy.
+
+That was all she said, all she felt capable of saying. The twisted
+thoughts, emotions and revulsions which surge in us as we watch the
+inexplicable workings of Fate are often difficult of expression.
+But, after mother had kissed her good night and gone, she lay
+pondering for a long time. Life is curiously unfair. That Tess and
+Arthur should have got the candy for which SHE suffered, that the
+very hours she'd been shut up with shame and disgrace THEY were
+gorging themselves, seemed her climactic crown of sorrow.
+
+Yes, life was queer. . .
+
+Almost not worth while to try to be athletic-she didn't really like
+being athletic, anyway . . . she hoped they'd had the ordinary human
+decency to give Gypsy just a little bit . . . Gypsy was a darling .
+. . that wavy tail and those bright soft eyes and the white star . .
+. but you don't have to be really athletic to ride a pony--you don't
+have to wear breeches and do things like that . . . Arthur wasn't so
+much, anyway--he had freckles and red hair and there was nothing
+romantic about him. . . Sir Galahad would never have been so scared
+of Mr. Picker--he wouldn't have shoved the blame off onto a maiden
+in distress. . . No, and she didn't think the King of Spain would,
+either . . . Or Rev. MacGill. . . There were lots of things just as
+good as being athletic . . . there were . . . lots of things . . .
+
+A moonbeam crept up the white sheet, to kiss the eyelids closed in
+sleep.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+A HAPPY DOWNFALL
+
+
+Ah, pensive scholar, what is fame?--A fitful tongue of fickle flame.
+And what is prominence to me, When a brown bird sings in the apple-
+tree? Ah, mortal downfalls lose their sting When World and Heart
+hear the call of Spring! You ask me why mere friendship so Outweighs
+all else that but comes to go? . . . A truce, a truce to
+questioning: "We two are friends," tells everything. I think it vile
+to pigeon-hole The pros and cons of a kindred soul. (From Melissa's
+Improvement on Certain Older Poets.)
+
+The year Melissa was a high school Junior was fated to be an
+unforgettable epoch. In the space of a few short months, all
+mysteriously interwoven with their causes and effects, their trials
+turning to glory, their disappointments and surcease inexplicable,
+came revelations, swift and shifting, or what is really worth while
+in life. Oh, Life! And oh, when one is sixteen years old! That is an
+age, as many of us can remember, one begins really to know Life--a
+complex and absorbing epoch.
+
+The first of these new vistas to unspread itself before Missy's eyes
+was nothing less dazzling than Travel. She had never been farther
+away from home than Macon City, the local metropolis, or Pleasanton,
+where Uncle Charlie and Aunt Isabel lived and which wasn't even as
+big as Cherryvale; and neither place was a two-hours' train ride
+away. The most picturesque scenery she knew was at Rocky Ford; it
+was far from the place where the melons grow, but water, a ford and
+rocks were there, and it had always shone in that prairie land and
+in Missy's eyes as a haunt of nymphs, water-babies, the Great
+Spirit, and Nature's poetics generally--the Great Spirit was
+naturally associated with its inevitable legendary Indian love
+story. But when Aunt Isabel carelessly suggested that Missy, next
+summer, go to Colorado with her, how the local metropolis dwindled;
+how little and simple, though pretty, of course, appeared Rocky
+Ford.
+
+Colorado quivered before her in images supernal. Colorado!
+Enchantment in the very name! And mountains, and eternal snow upon
+the peaks, and spraying waterfalls, and bright-painted gardens of
+the gods--oh, ecstasy!
+
+And going with Aunt Isabel! Aunt Isabel was young, beautiful, and
+delightful. Aunt Isabel went to Colorado every summer!
+
+But a whole year! That is, in truth, a long time and can bring forth
+much that is unforeseen, amazing, revolutionizing. Especially when
+one is sixteen and beginning really to know life.
+
+Missy had always found life in Cherryvale absorbing. The past had
+been predominantly tinged with the rainbow hues of dreams; with the
+fine, vague, beautiful thoughts that "reading" brings, and with such
+delicious plays of fancy as lend witchery to a high white moon, an
+arched blue sky, or rolling prairies-even to the tranquil town and
+the happenings of every day. Nothing could put magic into the
+humdrum life of school, and here she must struggle through another
+whole year of it before she might reach Colorado. That was a cloud,
+indeed, for one who wasn't "smart" like Beulah Crosswhite.
+Mathematics Missy found an inexplicable, unalloyed torture; history
+for all its pleasingly suggestive glimpses of a spacious past, laid
+heavy taxes on one not good at remembering dates. But Missy was
+about to learn to take a more modern view of high school
+possibilities. Shortly before school opened Cousin Pete came to see
+his grandparents in Cherryvale. Perhaps Pete's filial devotion was
+due to the fact that Polly Currier resided in Cherryvale; Polly was
+attending the State University where Pete was a "Post-Grad." Missy
+listened to Cousin Pete's talk of college life with respect,
+admiration, and some unconscious envy. There was one word that rose,
+like cream on milk, or oil on water, or fat on soup, inevitably to
+the surface of his conversation. "Does Polly Currier like college?"
+once inquired Missy, moved by politeness to broach what Pete must
+find an agreeable subject. "Naturally," replied Pete, with the
+languor of an admittedly superior being. "She's prominent." The
+word, "prominent," as uttered by him had more than impressiveness
+and finality. It was magnificent. It was as though one might remark
+languidly: "She? Oh, she's the Queen of Sheba"--or, "Oh, she's Mary
+Pickford."
+
+Missy pondered a second, then asked:
+
+"Prominent? How is a-what makes a person prominent?"
+
+Pete elucidated in the large, patronizing manner of a kindly-
+disposed elder.
+
+"Oh, being pretty--if you're a girl--and a good sport, and active in
+some line. A leader."
+
+Missy didn't yet exactly see. She decided to make the problem
+specific.
+
+"What makes Polly prominent?"
+
+"Because she's the prettiest girl on the hill," Pete replied
+indulgently. "And some dancer. And crack basket-ball forward--Glee
+Club--Dramatic Club. Polly's got it over 'em forty ways running."
+
+So ended the first lesson. The second occurred at the chance mention
+of one Charlie White, a Cherryvale youth likewise a student at the
+University.
+
+"Oh, he's not very prominent," commented Pete, and his tone damned
+poor Charlie for all eternity.
+
+"Why isn't he?" asked Missy interestedly.
+
+"Oh, I don't know--he's just a dub."
+
+"A dub?"
+
+"Yep, a dub." Pete had just made a "date" with Polly, so he beamed
+on her benignantly as he explained further: "A gun--a dig-a greasy
+grind."
+
+"But isn't a smart person ever prominent?"
+
+"Oh, sometimes. It all depends."
+
+"Is Polly Currier a grind?"
+
+"I should hope not!" as if defending the lady from an insulting
+charge.
+
+Missy looked puzzled; then asked:
+
+"Does she ever pass?"
+
+"Oh, now and then. Sometimes she flunks. Polly should worry!"
+
+Here was strange news. One could be smart, devote oneself to study--
+be a "greasy grind"--and yet fail of prominence; and one could fail
+to pass--"flunk"--and yet climb to the pinnacle of prominence.
+Evidently smartness and studiousness had nothing to do with it, and
+Missy felt a pleasurable thrill. Formerly she had envied Beulah
+Crosswhite, who wore glasses and was preternaturally wise. But maybe
+Beulah Crosswhite was not so much. Manifestly it was more important
+to be prominent than smart.
+
+Oh, if she herself could be prominent!
+
+To be sure, she wasn't pretty like Polly Currier, or even like her
+own contemporary, Kitty Allen--though she had reason to believe that
+Raymond Bonner had said something to one of the other boys that
+sounded as if her eyes were a little nice. "Big Eyes" he had called
+her, as if that were a joke; but maybe it meant something pleasant.
+But the High School did not have a Glee Club or Dramatic Society
+offering one the chance to display leadership gifts. There was a
+basket-ball team, but Missy didn't "take to" athletics. Missy
+brooded through long, secret hours.
+
+The first week of September school opened, classes enrolled, and the
+business of learning again got under way. By the second week the
+various offshoots of educational life began to sprout, and notices
+were posted of the annual elections of the two "literary societies,"
+Iolanthe and Mount Parnassus. The "programmes" of these bodies were
+held in the auditorium every other Friday, and each pupil was due
+for at least one performance a semester. Missy, who was an
+Iolanthian, generally chose to render a piano solo or an original
+essay. But everybody in school did that much--they had to--and only
+a few rose to the estate of being "officers."
+
+The Iolanthians had two tickets up for election: the scholastic,
+headed by Beulah Crosswhite for president, and an opposition framed
+by some boys who complained that the honours always went to girls
+and that it was time men's rights were recognized. The latter
+faction put up Raymond Bonner as their candidate. Raymond was as
+handsome and gay as Beulah Crosswhite was learned.
+
+It was a notable fight. When the day of election arrived, the
+Chemistry room in which the Iolanthians were gathered was electric
+with restrained excitement. On the first ballot Raymond and Beulah
+stood even. There was a second ballot--a third--a fourth. And still
+the deadlock, the atmosphere of tensity growing more vibrant every
+second. Finally a group of boys put their heads together. Then
+Raymond Bonner arose.
+
+"In view of the deadlock which it seems impossible to break," be
+began, in the rather stilted manner which befits such assemblages,
+"I propose that we put up a substitute candidate. I propose the name
+of Miss Melissa Merriam."
+
+Oh, dear heaven! For a second Missy was afraid she was going to cry-
+-she didn't know why. But she caught Raymond's eye on her, smiling
+encouragement, and she mistily glowed back at him. And on the very
+first vote she was elected. Yes. Miss Melissa Merriam was president
+of Iolanthe. She was prominent.
+
+And Raymond? Of course Raymond had been prominent before, though she
+had never noticed it, and now he had helped her up to this noble
+elevation! He must think she would adorn it. Adorn!--it was a lovely
+word that Missy had just captured. Though she had achieved her
+eminence by a fluke,
+
+Missy took fortune at the flood like one born for success. She mazed
+the whole school world by a meteoric display of unsuspected
+capacities. Herself she amazed most of all; she felt as if she were
+making the acquaintance of a stranger, an increasingly fascinating
+kind of stranger. How wonderful to find herself presiuing over a
+"meeting" from the teacher's desk in the Latin room, or over a
+"programme" in the auditorium, with calm and superior dignity!
+
+Missy, aflame with a new fire, was not content with the old
+hackneyed variety of "programme." It was she who conceived the idea
+of giving the first minstrel show ever presented upon the auditorium
+boards. It is a tribute to Missy's persuasiveness when at white heat
+that the faculty permitted the show to go beyond its first
+rehearsal. The rehearsals Missy personally conducted, with Raymond
+aiding as her first lieutenant-and he would not have played second
+fiddle like that to another girl in the class-he said so. She
+herself chose the cast, contrived the "scenery"; and she and Raymond
+together wrote the dialogue and lyrics. It was wonderful how they
+could do things together! Missy felt she never could get into such a
+glow and find such lovely rhymes popping right up in her mind if she
+were working alone. And Raymond said the same. It was very strange.
+It was as if a mystic bond fired them both with new talents-Missy
+looked on mixed metaphors as objectionable only to Professor Sutton.
+
+Her reputation-and Raymond's-soared, soared. Her literary talent
+placed her on a much higher plane than if she were merely "smart"-
+made her in the most perfect sense "prominent."
+
+After the minstrel triumph it was no surprise when, at class
+elections, Melissa Merriam became president of the Juniors. A few
+months before Missy would have been overwhelmed at the turn of
+things, but now she casually mounted her new height, with assurance
+supreme. It was as though always had the name of Melissa Merriam
+been a force. Raymond said no one else had a look-in.
+
+At the end of the term prominence brought its reward: Missy failed
+in Geometry and was conditioned in Latin. Father looked grave over
+her report card.
+
+"This is pretty bad, isn't it?" he asked.
+
+Missy fidgeted. It gave her a guilty feeling to bring that
+expression to her indulgent father's face.
+
+"I'm sorry, father. I know I'm not smart, but-" She hesitated.
+
+Father took off his glasses and thoughtfully regarded her.
+
+"I wasn't complaining of your not being 'smart'--'smart' people are
+often pests. The trouble's that this is worse than it's ever been.
+And today I got a letter from Professor Sutton. He says you evince
+no interest whatever in your work."
+
+Missy felt a little indignant flare within her.
+
+"He knows what responsibilities I have!"
+
+"Responsibilities?" repeated father.
+
+Here mother, who had been sitting quietly by, also with a
+disapproving expression, entered the discussion:
+
+"I knew all that Iolanthe and class flummery would get her into
+trouble."
+
+Flummery!
+
+Missy's voice quavered. "That's a very important part of school
+life, mother! Class spirit and all--you don't understand!" "I
+suppose parents are seldom able to keep up with the understanding of
+their children," replied mother, with unfamiliar sarcasm. "However,
+right here's where I presume to set my foot down. If you fail again,
+in the spring examinations, you'll have to study and make it up this
+summer. You can't go with Aunt Isabel."
+
+Lose the Colorado trip! The wonderful trip she had already lived
+through, in vivid prospect, a hundred times! Oh, mother couldn't be
+so cruel! But Missy's face dropped alarmingly.
+
+"Now, mamma," began father, "I wouldn't-"
+
+"I mean every word of it," reaffirmed mother with the voice of doom.
+"No grades, no holiday. Missy's got to learn balance and moderation.
+She lets any wild enthusiasm carry her off her feet. She's got to
+learn, before it's too late, to think and control herself."
+
+There was a moment's heavy pause, then mother went on,
+significantly:
+
+"And I don't know that you ought to buy that car this spring, papa."
+
+The parents exchanged a brief glance, and Missy's heart dropped even
+lower. For months she had been teasing father to buy a car, as so
+many of the girls' fathers were doing. He had said, "Wait till
+spring," and now-the universe was draped in gloom.
+
+However, there was a certain sombre satisfaction in reflecting that
+her traits of frailty should call forth such enthrallingly sinister
+comments. "Lets any wild enthusiasm carry her off her feet"--
+"before, it's too late"--"must learn to control herself--"
+
+Human nature is an interesting study, and especially one's own
+nature when one stands off and regards it as a problem Allen,
+mysterious and complicated. Missy stared at the endangered recesses
+of her soul--and wondered what Raymond thought about these perils-
+for any girl. He liked her of course, but did he think she was too
+enthusiastic?
+
+Yet such speculations did not, at the time, tie up with views about
+the Colorado trip. That was still the guiding star of all her hopes.
+She must study harder during the spring term and stave off the
+threatened and unspeakable calamity. It was a hard resolution to put
+through, especially when she conceived a marvellous idea-a "farce"
+like one Polly Currier told her about when she was home for her
+Easter vacation. Missy wrestled with temptation like some Biblical
+martyr of old, but the thought of Colorado kept her strong. And she
+couldn't help feeling a little noble when, mentioning to mother the
+discarded inspiration-without allusion to Colorado-she was praised
+for her adherence to duty.
+
+The sense of nobility aided her against various tantalizing chances
+to prove anew her gifts of leadership, through latter March, through
+April, through early May--lengthening, balmy, burgeoning days when
+Spring brings all her brightly languid witchery in assault upon drab
+endeavour.
+
+The weather must share the blame for what befell that fateful Friday
+of the second week in May. Blame? Of course there was plenty of
+blame from adults that must be laid somewhere; but as for Missy, a
+floating kind of ecstasy was what that day woke in her first, and
+after the worst had happened--But let us see what did come to pass.
+
+It was a day made for poets to sing about. A day for the young man
+to forget the waiting ledger on his desk and gaze out the window at
+skies so blue and deep as to invite the building of castles; for
+even his father to see visions of golf-course or fishing-boat
+flickering in the translucent air; for old Jeff to get out his lawn-
+mower and lazily add a metallic song to the hum of the universe. And
+for him or her who must sit at schoolroom desk, it was a day to
+follow the processes of blackboard or printed page with the eyes but
+not the mind, while the encaged spirit beat past the bars of dull
+routine to wing away in the blue.
+
+Missy, sitting near an open window of the "study room" during the
+"second period," let dreamy eyes wander from the fatiguing Q. E.
+D.'s of the afternoon's Geometry lesson; the ugly tan walls, the
+sober array of national patriots hanging above the encircling
+blackboard, the sea of heads restlessly swaying over receding rows
+of desks, all faded hazily away. Her soul flitted out through the
+window, and suffused itself in the bit of bright, bright blue
+showing beyond the stand-pipe, in the soft, soft air that stole in
+to kiss her cheek, in the elusive fragrance of young, green, growing
+things, in the drowsy, drowsy sound of Mrs. Clifton's chickens
+across the way. . .
+
+Precious minutes were speeding by; she would not have her Geometry
+lesson. But Missy didn't bring herself back to think of that; would
+not have cared, anyway. She let her soul stretch out, out, out.
+
+Such is the sweet, subtle, compelling madness a day of Spring can
+bring one.
+
+Missy had often felt the ecstasy of being swept out on the yearning
+demand for a new experience. Generally because of something
+suggestive in "reading" or in heavenly colour combinations or in sad
+music at twilight; but, now, for no definable reason at all, she
+felt her soul welling up and up in vague but poignant craving. She
+asked permission to get a drink of water. But instead of quenching
+her thirst, she wandered to the entry of the room occupied by
+Mathematics III A--Missy's own class, from which she was now
+sequestered by the cruel bar termed "failure-to-pass." Something was
+afoot in there; Missy put her ear to the keyhole; then she boldly
+opened the door.
+
+A tempest of paper-wads, badinage and giggles greeted her. The
+teacher's desk was vacant. Miss Smith was at home sick, and the
+principal had put Mathematics III A on their honour. For a time
+Missy joined in their honourable pursuit of giggles and badinage.
+But Raymond had welcomed her as if the fun must mount to something
+yet higher when she came; she felt a "secret, deep, interior urge"
+to show what she could do. The seductive May air stole into her
+blood, a stealthy, intoxicating elixir, and finally the Inspiration
+came, with such tumultuous swiftness that she could never have told
+whence or how. Passed on to her fellows, it was caught up with an
+ardour equally mad and unreckoning. One minute the unpastored flock
+of Mathematics III A were leaning out the windows, sniffing in the
+lilac scents wafted over from Mrs. Clifton's yard; the next they
+were scurrying, tip-toe, flushed, laughing, jostling, breathless,
+out through the cloak-room, down the stairs, through the side-door,
+across the stretch of school-yard, toward a haven beyond Mrs.
+Clifton's lilac hedge.
+
+Where were they going? They did not know. Why had they started? They
+did not know. What the next step? They did not know. No thought nor
+reason in that, onward rush; only one vast, enveloping, incoherent,
+tumultuous impulse--away! away! Away from dark walls into the open;
+away from the old into the new; away from the usual into the you-
+don't-know-what; away from "you must not" into "you may." The wild,
+free, bright, heedless urge of Spring!
+
+Behind their fragrant rampart they paused, for a second, to spin
+about in a kind of mental and spiritual whirlpool. Some began
+breaking off floral sprays to decorate hat-band or shirt-waist. But
+Missy, feeling her responsibility as a leader, glanced back, through
+leafy crevices, at those prison-windows open and ominously near.
+
+"We mustn't stay here!" she admonished. "We'll get caught!"
+
+As if an embodiment of warning, just then Mrs. Clifton emerged out
+on her front porch; she looked as if she might be going to shout at
+them. But Raymond waited to break off a lilac cluster for Missy. He
+was so cool about it; it just showed how much he was like the Black
+Prince--though of course no one would "understand" if you said such
+a thing.
+
+The fragrantly beplumed company sped across the green Clifton yard,
+ruthlessly over the Clifton vegetable garden, to the comparative
+retreat of Silver Street, beyond. But they were not yet safe--away!
+away! Missy urged them westward, for no defined reason save that
+this direction might increase their distance from the danger zone of
+the High School.
+
+Still without notion of whither bound, the runaways, moist and
+dishevelled, found themselves down by the railroad tracks. There, in
+front of the Pacific depot, stood the 10:43 "accommodation" for
+Osawatomie and other points south. Another idea out of the blue!
+
+"Let's go to Osawatomie!" cried Missy.
+
+The accommodation was puffing laboriously into action as the last
+Junior clambered pantingly on. But they'd all got on! They were on
+their way!
+
+But not on their way to Osawatomie.
+
+For before they had all found satisfactory places on the red plush
+seats where it was hard to sit still with that bright balminess
+streaming in through the open windows--hard to sit still, or to
+think, or to do anything but flutter up and down and laugh and
+chatter about nothing at all--the conductor appeared.
+
+"Tickets, please!"
+
+A trite and commonplace phrase, but potent to plunge errant, winging
+fancies down to earth. The chattering ceased short. No one had
+thought of tickets, nor even of money. The girls of the party looked
+appalled--in Cherryvale the girls never dreamed of carrying money to
+school; then furtively they glanced at the boys. Just as furtively
+the boys were exploring into pockets, but though they brought forth
+a plentiful salvage of the anomalous treasure usually to be found in
+school-boys' pockets, the display of "change" was pathetic. Raymond
+had a quarter, and that was more than anyone else turned out.
+
+The conductor impatiently repeated:
+
+"Tickets, please!"
+
+Then Missy, feeling that financial responsibility must be recognized
+in a class president, began to put her case with a formal dignity
+that impressed every one but the conductor.
+
+"We're the Junior class of the Cherryvale High School--we wish to go
+to Osawatomie. Couldn't we--maybe--?"
+
+Formal dignity broke down, her voice stuck in her throat, but her
+eyes ought to have been enough. They were big and shining eyes, and
+when she made them appealing they had been known to work wonders
+with father and mother and other grown-ups, even with the austere
+Professor Sutton. But this burly figure in the baggy blue uniform
+had a face more like a wooden Indian than a human grown-up--and an
+old, dyspeptic wooden Indian at that. Missy's eyes were to avail her
+nothing that hour.
+
+"Off you get at the watering-tank," he ordained. "The whole pack of
+you."
+
+And at the watering-tank off they got.
+
+And then, as often follows a mood of high adventure, there fell upon
+the festive group a moment of pause, of unnatural quiet, of "let
+down."
+
+"Well, what're we going to do now?" queried somebody.
+
+"We'll do whatever Missy says," said Raymond, just as if he were Sir
+Walter Raleigh speaking of the Virgin Queen. It was a wonder someone
+didn't start teasing him about her; but everyone was too taken up
+waiting for Missy to proclaim. She set her very soul vibrating; shut
+her eyes tightly a moment to think; and, as if in proof that
+Providence helps them who must help others, almost instantly she
+opened them again.
+
+"Rocky Ford!"
+
+Just like that, out of the blue, a quick, unfaltering, almost
+unconscious cry of the inspired. And, with resounding acclaim, her
+followers caught it up:
+
+"Rocky Ford! Rocky Ford!"--"That's the ticket!"--"We'll have a
+picnic'."--"Rocky Ford! Rocky Ford!"
+
+Rocky Ford, home of nymphs, water-babies and Indian legend, was only
+half a mile away. Again it shone in all its old-time romantic
+loveliness on Missy's inward eye. And for a fact it was a good
+Maytime picnic place.
+
+That day everything about the spot seemed invested with a special
+kind of beauty, the kind of beauty you feel so poignantly in stories
+and pictures but seldom meet face to face in real life. The Indian
+maiden became a memory you must believe in: she had loved someone
+and they were parted somehow and she was turned into a swan or
+something. Off on either side the creek, the woods stretched dim and
+mysterious; but nearby, on the banks, the little new leaves stirred
+and sparkled in the sun like green jewels; and the water dribbled
+and sparkled over the flat white stones of the ford like a million
+swishing diamonds; and off in the distance there were sounds which
+may have been birds--or, perhaps, the legendary maiden singing; and,
+farther away, somewhere, a faint clanging music which must be cow-
+bells, only they had a remote heavenly quality rare in cow-bells.
+
+And, all the while, the sun beaming down on the ford, intensely soft
+and bright. Why is it that the sun can seem so much softer and
+brighter in some places than in others?
+
+Missy felt that soft brightness penetrating deeper and deeper into
+her being. It seemed a sort of limpid, shining tide flowing through
+to her very soul; it made her blood tingle, and her soul quiver.
+And, in some mysterious way, the presence, of Raymond Bonner,
+consciousness of Raymond--Raymond himself--began to seem all mixed
+up with this ineffable, surging effulgence. Missy recognized that
+she had long experienced a secret, strange, shy kind of feeling
+toward Raymond. He was so handsome and so gay. and his dark eyes
+told her so plainly that he liked her, and he carried her books home
+for her despite the fact that the other boys teased him. The other
+girls had teased Missy, too, so that sometimes she didn't know
+whether she was more happy or embarrassed over Raymond's admiration.
+
+But, to-day, everyone seemed lifted above such childish rudeness.
+When Missy had first led off from the watering-tank toward Rocky
+Ford, Raymond had taken his place by her side, and he maintained it
+there masterfully though two or three other boys tried to include
+themselves in the class president's group--"buttinskys," Raymond
+termed them.
+
+Once, as they walked together along the road, Raymond took hold of
+her hand. He had done that much before, but this was different.
+Those other times did not count. She knew that this was different
+and that he, too, knew it was different. They glanced at each other,
+and then quickly away.
+
+Then, when they turned off into a field, to avoid meeting people who
+might ask questions, Raymond held together the barbed wires of the
+fence very carefully, so she could creep under without mishap. And
+when they neared the woods, he kicked all the twigs from her path,
+and lifted aside the underbrush lest it touch her face. And at each
+opportunity for this delicious solicitude they would look at each
+other, and then quickly away.
+
+That was in many ways an unforgettable picnic; many were the
+unheard-of things carried out as soon as thought of. For example,
+the matter of lunch. What need to go hungry when there were eggs in
+a farmer's henhouse not a half-mile away, and potatoes in the
+farmer's store-house, and sundry other edibles all spread out, as if
+waiting, in the farmer's cellar? (Blessings on the farmer's wife for
+going avisiting that day!)
+
+The boys made an ingenious oven of stones and a glorious fire of
+brush; and the girls made cunning dishes out of big, clean-washed
+leaves. Then, when the potatoes and eggs were ready, all was
+devoured with a zest that paid its own tribute to the fair young
+cooks; and the health of the fair young cooks was drunk in Swan
+Creek water, cupped in sturdy masculine hands; and even the girls
+tried to drink from those same cups, laughing so they almost
+strangled. A mad, merry and supremely delightful feast.
+
+After she had eaten, for some reason Missy felt a craving to wander
+off somewhere and sit still a while. She would have loved to stretch
+out in the grass, and half-close her eyes, and gaze up at the bits
+of shining, infinite blue of the sky, and dream. But there was
+Raymond at her elbow--and she wanted, even more than she wanted to
+be alone and dream, Raymond to be there at her elbow.
+
+Then, too, there were all the others. Someone shouted:
+
+"What'll we do now? What'll we do, Missy?"
+
+So the class president dutifully set her wits to work. Around the
+flat white stones of the ford the water was dribbling, warm, soft,
+enticing.
+
+"Let's go wading!" she cried.
+
+Wading!
+
+Usually Missy would have shrunk from appearing before boys in bare
+feet. But this was a special kind of day which held no room for
+embarrassment; and, more quickly than it takes to tell it, shoes and
+stockings were off and the new game was on. Missy stood on a
+stepping-stone, suddenly diffident; the water now looked colder and
+deeper, the whispering cascadelets seemed to roar like breakers on a
+beach. The girls were all letting out little squeals as the water
+chilled their ankles, and the boys made feints of chasing them into
+deeper water.
+
+Raymond pursued Missy, squealing and skipping from stone to stone
+till, unexpectedly, she lost her slippery footing and went sprawling
+into the shallow stream.
+
+"Oh, Missy! I'm sorry!" She felt his arms tugging at her. Then she
+found herself standing on the bank, red-faced and dripping, feeling
+very wretched and very happy at the same time--wretched because
+Raymond should see her in such plight; happy because he was making
+such a fuss over her notwithstanding.
+
+He didn't seem to mind her appearance, but took his hat and began
+energetically to fan her draggled hair.
+
+"I wish my hair was curly like Kitty Allen's," she said.
+
+"I like it this way," said Raymond, unplaiting the long braids so as
+to fan them better.
+
+"But hers curls up all the prettier when it's wet. Mine strings."
+
+"Straight hair's the nicest," he said with finality.
+
+He liked straight hair best! A wave of celestial bliss stole over
+her. It was wonderful: the big, fleecy clouds so serenely beautiful
+up in the enigmatic blue; the sun pouring warmly down and drying her
+dress in uneven patches; the whisperings of the green-jewelled
+leaves and the swishing of the diamond-bubbles on the stones; the
+drowsy, mysterious sounds from far away in the woods, and fragrance
+everywhere; and everything seeming delightfully remote; even the
+other boys and girls--everything and everybody save Raymond,
+standing there so patiently fanning the straight hair he admired.
+
+Oh, the whole place was entrancing, entrancing in a new way; and her
+sensations, too, were entrancing in a new way. Even when Raymond, as
+he manipulated her hair, inadvertently pulled the roots, the prickly
+pains seemed to tingle on down through her being in little tremors
+of pure ecstasy.
+
+Raymond went on fanning her hair.
+
+"Curly hair's messy looking," he observed after a considerable pause
+during which, evidently, his thoughts had remained centred on this
+pleasing theme.
+
+And then, all of a sudden, Missy found herself saying an
+inexplicable, unheard-of thing:
+
+"You can have a lock-if you want to."
+
+She glanced up, and then quickly down. And she felt herself blushing
+again; she didn't exactly like to blush--yet--yet--
+
+"Do I want it?"
+
+Already Raymond had dropped his improvised fan and was fumbling for
+his knife.
+
+"Where?" he asked.
+
+Missy shivered deliciously at the imminence of that bright steel
+blade; what if he should let it slip?--but, just then, even
+mutilation, provided it be at Raymond's hand, didn't seem too
+terrible.
+
+"Wherever you want," she murmured.
+
+"All right--I'll take a snip here where it twines round your ear--it
+looks so sort of affectionate."
+
+She giggled with him. Of course it was all terribly silly--and yet--
+
+Then there followed a palpitant moment while she held her breath and
+shut her eyes. A derisive shout caused her to open them quickly.
+There stood Don Jones, grinning.
+
+"Missy gave Raymond a lock of her hair! Missy gave Raymond a lock of
+her hair!"
+
+Missy's face grew hot; blushing was not now a pleasure; she looked
+up, then down; she didn't know where to look.
+
+"Gimme one, too! You got to play fair, Missy--gimme one, too!"
+
+Then, in that confusion of spirit, she heard her voice, which didn't
+seem to be her own voice but a stranger's, saying:
+
+"All right, you can have one, too, if you want it, Don."
+
+Don forthwith advanced. Missy couldn't forebear a timid glance
+toward Raymond. Raymond was not looking pleased. She wished she
+might assure him she didn't really want to give the lock to Don, and
+yet, at the same time, she felt strangely thrilled at that lowering
+look on Raymond's face. It was curious. She wanted Raymond to be
+happy, yet she didn't mind his being just a little bit unhappy--this
+way. Oh, how complicated and fascinating life can be!
+
+During the remainder of their stay at the ford Missy was preoccupied
+with this new revelation of herself and with a furtive study of
+Raymond whose continued sulkiness was the cause of it. Raymond
+didn't once come to her side during all that endless three-mile
+tramp back to Cherryvale; but she was conscious of his eye on her as
+she trudged along beside Don Jones. She didn't feel like talking to
+Don Jones. Nor was the rest of the crowd, now, a lively band; it was
+harder to laugh than it had been in the morning; harder even to
+talk. And when they did talk, little unsuspected irritabilities
+began to gleam out. For now, when weary feet must somehow cover
+those three miles, thoughts of the journey's end began to rise up in
+the truants' minds. During the exalted moments of adventure they
+hadn't thought of consequences. That's a characteristic of exalted
+moments. But now, so to speak, the ball was over, the roses all
+shattered and faded, and the weary dancers must face the aftermath
+of to-morrow. . .
+
+And Missy, trudging along the dusty road beside Don Jones who didn't
+count, felt all kinds of shadows rising up to eclipse brightness in
+her soul. What would Professor Sutton do?--he was fearfully strict.
+And father and mother would never understand. . .
+
+If only Don Jones would stop babbling to her! Why did he persist in
+walking beside her, anyway? That lock of hair didn't mean anything!
+She wished she hadn't given it to him; why had she, anyway? She
+herself couldn't comprehend why, and Raymond would never, never
+comprehend.
+
+The farther she walked, the less she saw the pleasanter aspects of
+Raymond's jealousy and the more what might be the outcome of it.
+Perhaps he'd never have anything to do with her again. That would be
+terrible! And she'd have such a short time to try making it up. For
+in less than a month she'd have to go with Aunt Isabel to Colorado;
+and, then, she wouldn't see Raymond for weeks and weeks. Colorado!
+It was like talking of going to the moon, a dreary, dead, far-off
+moon, with no one in it to speak to. Aunt Isabel? Aunt Isabel was
+sweet, but she was so old--nearly thirty! How could she, Missy, go
+and leave Raymond misunderstanding her so?
+
+But who can tell how Fate may work to confound rewards and
+punishments!
+
+It was to become a legend in the Cherryvale High School how, once on
+a day in May, a daring band ran away from classes and how the truant
+class, in toto, was suspended for the two closing weeks of the
+semester, with no privilege of "making up" the grades. And the
+legend runs that one girl, and the most prominent girl in the class
+at that, by reason of this sentence fell just below the minimum
+grade required to "pass."
+
+Yes; Missy failed again. Of course that was very bad. And taking her
+disgrace home--indeed, that was horrid. As she faced homeward she
+felt so heavy inside that she knew she could never eat her dinner.
+Besides, she was walking alone--Raymond hadn't walked home with her
+since the wretched picnic. She sighed a sigh that was not connected
+with the grade card in her pocket. For one trouble dwarfs another in
+this world; and friendship is more than honours--a sacred thing,
+friendship! Only Raymond was so unreasonable over Don's lock of
+hair; yet, for all the painfulness of Raymond's crossness, Missy
+smiled the littlest kind of a down-eyed, secret sort of smile as she
+thought of it. . . It was so wonderful and foolish and interesting
+how much he cared that Missy began to question what he'd do if she
+got Don to give her a lock of his hair.
+
+Then she sobered suddenly, as you do at a funeral after you have
+forgotten where you are and then remember. That card was an
+unpleasant thing to take home! . . . Just what did Raymond mean by
+giving Kitty Allen a lock of his hair? And doing it before Missy
+herself--"Kitty, here's that lock I promised you"--just like that.
+Then he had laughed and joked as if nothing unusual had happened--
+only was he watching her out of the corner of his eye when he
+thought she wasn't looking? That was the real question. The idea of
+Raymond trying to make her jealous! How simple-minded boys are!
+
+But, after all, what a dear, true friend he had proved himself in
+the past--before she offended him. And how much more is friendship
+than mere pleasures like travel--like going to Colorado.
+
+But was he jealous? If he was--Missy felt an inexplicable kind of
+bubbling in her heart at that idea. But if he wasn't--well, of
+course it was natural she should wonder whether Raymond looked on
+friendship as a light, come-and-go thing, and on locks of hair as
+meaning nothing at all. For he had never been intimate with Kitty
+Allen; and he had said he didn't like curly hair. Yet, probably, he
+had one of Kitty Allen's ringlets. . . Missy felt a new, hideous
+weight pulling down her heart.
+
+Of course she had given that straight wisp to Don Jones--but what
+else could she do to keep him from telling? Oh, life is a muddle!
+And here, in less than a week, Aunt Isabel would come by and whisk
+her off to the ends of the earth; and she might have to go without
+really knowing what Raymond meant. . .
+
+And oh, yes--that old card! How dreary life can be as one grows
+older.
+
+Missy waited to show the card till her father came home to supper--
+she knew it was terribly hard for father to be stern. But when
+Missy, all mute appeal, extended him the report, he looked it over
+in silence and then passed it on to mother. Mother, too, examined it
+with maddening care.
+
+"Well," she commented at last. "I see you've failed again."
+
+"It was all the fault of those two weeks' grades," the culprit tried
+to explain. "If it hadn't been for that--"
+
+"But there was 'that.'" Mother's tone was terribly unsympathetic.
+
+"I didn't think of grades--then."
+
+"No, that's the trouble. I've warned you, Missy. You've got to learn
+to think. You'll have to stay home and make up those grades this
+summer. You'd better write to Aunt Isabel at once, so she won't be
+inconvenienced."
+
+Mother's voice had the quiet ring of doom.
+
+Tender-hearted father looked away, out the window, so as not to see
+the disappointment on his daughter's face. But Missy was gazing down
+her nose to hide eyes that were shining. Soon she made an excuse to
+get away.
+
+Out in the summerhouse it was celestially beautiful and peaceful.
+And, magically, all this peace and beauty seemed to penetrate into
+her and become a part of herself. The glory of the pinkish-mauve
+sunset stole in and delicately tinged her so; the scent of the
+budding ramblers, and of the freshly-mowed lawn, became her own
+fragrant odour; the soft song of the breeze rocking the leaves
+became her own soul's lullaby. Oh, it was a heavenly world, and the
+future bloomed with enchantments! She could stay in Cherryvale this
+summer! Dear Cherryvale! Green prairies were so much nicer than
+snow-covered mountains, and gently sloping hills than sharp-pointing
+peaks; and much, much nicer than tempestuous waterfalls was the
+sweet placidity of Swan Creek. Dear Swan Creek. . .
+
+The idea of Raymond's trying to make her jealous! How simple-minded
+boys are! But what a dear, true friend he was, and how much more is
+friendship than mere pleasures like travel--or prominence or fine
+grades or anything. . .
+
+It was at this point in her cogitations that Missy, seeing her
+Anthology--an intimate poetic companion--where she'd left it on a
+bench, dreamily picked it up, turned a few pages, and then was moved
+to write. We have borrowed her product to head this story.
+
+Meanwhile, back in the house, her father might have been heard
+commenting on the noble behaviour of his daughter.
+
+"Didn't let out a single whimper--brave little thing! We must see to
+it that she has a good time at home--poor young one! I think we'd
+better get the car this summer, after all."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+DOBSON SAVES THE DAY
+
+
+
+It was two years after the Spanish war; and she was seventeen years
+old and about to graduate.
+
+On the Senior class roster of the Cherryvale High School she was
+catalogued as Melissa Merriam, well down--in scholarship's token--
+toward the tail-end of twenty-odd other names. To the teachers the
+list meant only the last young folks added to a backreaching line of
+girls and boys who for years and years had been coming to
+"Commencement" with "credits" few or many, large expectant eyes
+fixed on the future, and highly uncertain habits of behaviour; but,
+to the twenty-odd, such dead prosiness about themselves would have
+been inconceivable even in teachers.
+
+And Missy?
+
+Well, there were prettier girls in the class, and smarter girls-and
+boys, too; yet she was the one from all that twenty-odd who had been
+chosen to deliver the Valedictory. Did there ever exist a maid who
+did not thrill to proof that she was popular with her mates? And
+when that tribute carries with it all the possibilities of a
+Valedictory--double, treble the exultation.
+
+The Valedictory! When Missy sat in the classroom, exhausted with the
+lassitudinous warmth of spring and with the painful uncertainty of
+whether she'd be called to translate the Vergil passage she hadn't
+mastered, visions of that coming glory would rise to brighten weary
+hours; and the last thing at night, in falling asleep, as the moon
+stole in tenderly to touch her smiling face, she took them to her
+dreams. She saw a slender girl in white, standing alone on a lighted
+stage, gazing with luminous eyes out on a darkened auditorium.
+Sometimes they had poky old lectures in that Opera House. Somebody
+named Ridgely Holman Dobson was billed to lecture there now--before
+Commencement; but Missy hated lectures; her vision was of something
+lifted far above such dismal, useful communications. She saw a house
+as hushed as when little Eva dies--all the people listening to the
+girl up there illumined: the lift and fall of her voice, the
+sentiments fine and noble and inspiring. They followed the slow
+grace of her arms and hands--it was, indeed, as if she held them in
+the hollow of her hand. And then, finally, when she had come to the
+last undulating cadence, the last vibrantly sustained phrase, as she
+paused and bowed, there was a moment of hush--and then the applause
+began. Oh, what applause! And then, slowly, graciously, modestly but
+with a certain queenly pride, the shining figure in white turned and
+left the stage.
+
+She could see it all: the way her "waved" hair would fluff out and
+catch the light like a kind of halo, and each one of the nine
+organdie ruffles that were going to trim the bottom of her dress;
+she could even see the glossy, dark green background of potted
+palms--mother had promised to lend her two biggest ones. Yes, she
+could see it and hear it to the utmost completeness--save for one
+slight detail: that was the words of the girlish and queenly
+speaker. It seemed all wrong that she, who wasn't going to be a dull
+lecturer, should have to use words, and so many of them! You see,
+Missy hadn't yet written the Valedictory.
+
+But that didn't spoil her enjoyment of the vision; it would all come
+to her in time. Missy believed in Inspiration. Mother did not.
+
+Mother had worried all through the four years of her daughter's high
+school career--over "grades" or "exams" or "themes" or whatnot. She
+had fretted and urged and made Missy get up early to study; had even
+punished her. And, now, she was sure Missy would let time slide by
+and never get the Valedictory written on time. The two had already
+"had words" over it. Mother was dear and tender and sweet, and Missy
+would rather have her for mother than any other woman in Cherryvale,
+but now and then she was to be feared somewhat.
+
+Sometimes she would utter an ugly, upsetting phrase:
+
+"How can you dilly-dally so, Missy? You put everything off!--put
+off--put off! Now, go and try to get that thesis started!"
+
+There was nothing for Missy to do but go and try to obey. She took
+tablet and pencil out to the summerhouse, where it was always
+inspiringly quiet and beautiful; she also took along the big blue-
+bound Anthology from the living-room table--an oft-tapped fount; but
+even reading poetry didn't seem able to lift her to the creative
+mood. And you have to be in the mood before you can create, don't
+you? Missy felt this necessity vaguely but strongly; but she
+couldn't get it across to mother.
+
+And even worse than mother's reproaches was when father finally gave
+her a "talking to"; father was a big, wise, but usually silent man,
+so that when he did speak his words seemed to carry a double force.
+Missy's young friends were apt to show a little awe of father, but
+she knew he was enormously kind and sympathetic. Long ago--oh, years
+before--when she was a little girl, she used to find it easier to
+talk to him than to most grown-ups; about all kinds of unusual
+things--the strange, mysterious, fascinating thoughts that come to
+one. But lately, for some reason, she had felt more shy with father.
+There was much she feared he mightn't understand--or, perhaps, she
+feared he might understand.
+
+So, in this rather unsympathetic domestic environment, the class
+Valedictorian, with the kindling of her soul all laid, so to speak,
+uneasily awaited the divine spark. It was hard to maintain an easy
+assumption that all was well; especially after the affair of the
+hats got under way.
+
+Late in April Miss Ackerman, the Domestic Science teacher, had
+organized a special night class in millinery which met, in turns, at
+the homes of the various members. The girls got no "credit" for this
+work, but they seemed to be more than compensated by the joy of
+creating, with their own fingers, new spring hats which won them
+praise and admiration. Kitty Allen's hat was particularly
+successful. It was a white straw "flat," faced and garlanded with
+blue. Missy looked at its picturesque effect, posed above her "best
+friend's" piquantly pretty face, with an envy which was augmented by
+the pardonable note of pride in Kitty's voice as she'd say: "Oh, do
+you really like it?--I made it myself, you know."
+
+If only she, Missy, might taste of this new kind of joy! She was not
+a Domestic Science girl; but, finally, she went to Miss Ackermanand-
+-oh,rapture!--obtained permission to enter the millinery class.
+
+However, there was still the more difficult matter of winning
+mother's consent. As Missy feared, Mrs. Merriam at once put on her
+disapproving look.
+
+"No, Missy. You've already got your hands full. Have you started the
+thesis yet?"
+
+"Oh, mother!--I'll get the thesis done all right! And this is such a
+fine chance!--all the girls are learning how to make their own hats.
+And I thought, maybe, after I'd learned how on my own, that maybe I
+could make you one. Do you remember that adorable violet straw you
+used to have when I was a little girl?--poke shape and with the pink
+rose? I remember father always said it was the most becoming hat you
+ever had. And I was thinking, maybe, I could make one something like
+that!"
+
+"I'm afraid I've outgrown pink roses, dear." But mother was smiling
+a soft, reminiscent little shadow of a smile.
+
+"But you haven't outgrown the poke shape--and violet! Oh, mother!"
+
+"Well, perhaps--we'll see. But you mustn't let it run away with you.
+You must get that thesis started."
+
+Not for nothing had Missy been endowed with eyes that could shine
+and a voice that could quaver; yes, and with an instinct for just
+the right argument to play upon the heart-strings.
+
+She joined the special night class in millinery. She learned to
+manipulate troublesome coils of wire and pincers, and to evolve a
+strange, ghostly skeleton--thing called a "frame," but when this was
+finally covered with crinoline and tedious rows-on-rows of straw
+braid, drab drudgery was over and the deliciousness began.
+
+Oh, the pure rapture of "trimming"! Missy's first venture was a
+wide, drooping affair, something the shape of Kitty Allen's, only
+her own had a much subtler, more soul-satisfying colour scheme. The
+straw was a subtle blue shade--the colour Raymond Bonner, who was a
+classmate and almost a "beau," wore so much in neckties--and the
+facing shell-pink, a delicate harmony; but the supreme ecstasy came
+with placing the little silken flowers, pink and mauve and deeper
+subtle-blue, in effective composition upon that heavenly background;
+and, in just the one place, a glimpse of subtle-blue ribbon, a sheen
+as gracious as achieved by the great Creator when, with a master's
+eye, on a landscape he places a climactic stroke of shining blue
+water. Indeed, He Himself surely can view His handiwork with no more
+sense o gratification than did Missy, regarding that miracle of
+colour which was her own creation.
+
+Oh, to create! To feel a blind, vague, ineffable urge within you,
+stealing out to tangibility in colour and form! Earth--nor Heaven,
+either--can produce no finer rapture.
+
+Missy's hat was duly admired. Miss Ackerman said she was a "real
+artist"; when she wore it to Sunday-school everybody looked at her
+so much she found it hard to hold down a sense of unsabbatical
+pride; father jocosely said she'd better relinquish her dreams of
+literary fame else she'd deprive the world of a fine milliner; and
+even mother admitted that Mrs. Anna Stubbs, the leading milliner,
+couldn't have done better. However, she amended: "Now, don't forget
+your school work, dear. Have you decided on the subject of your
+thesis yet?"
+
+Missy had not. But, by this time, the hat business was moving so
+rapidly that she had even less time to worry over anything still
+remote, like the thesis--plenty of time to think of that; now, she
+was dreaming of how the rose would look blooming radiantly from this
+soft bed of violet straw; . . . and, now, how becoming to Aunt
+Nettie would be this misty green, with cool-looking leaves and wired
+silver gauze very pure and bright like angels' wings--dear Aunt
+Nettie didn't have much "taste," and Missy indulged in a certain
+righteous glow in thus providing her with a really becoming,
+artistic hat. Then, after Aunt Nettie's, she planned one for
+Marguerite. Marguerite was the hired girl, mulatto, and had the
+racial passion for strong colour. So Missy conceived for her a
+creation that would be at once satisfying to wearer and beholder.
+How wonderful with one's own hands to be able to dispense pleasure!
+Missy, working, felt a peculiarly blended joy; it is a
+gratification, indeed, when a pleasing occupation is seasoned with
+the fine flavour of noble altruism.
+
+She hadn't yet thought of a theme for the Valedictory, and mother
+was beginning to make disturbing comments about "this hat mania,"
+when, by the most fortuitous chance, while she was working on
+Marguerite's very hat--in fact, because she was working on it--she
+hit upon a brilliantly possible idea for the Valedictory.
+
+She was rummaging in a box of discarded odds and ends for
+"trimmings." The box was in mother's store-closet, and Missy
+happened to observe a pile of books up on the shelf. Books always
+interested her, and even with a hat on her mind she paused a moment
+to look over the titles. The top volume was "Ships That Pass in the
+Night"--she had read that a year or so ago--a delightful book,
+though she'd forgotten just what about. She took it down and opened
+it, casually, at the title page. And there, in fine print beneath
+the title, she read:
+
+Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, Only
+a signal shewn, and a distant voice in the darkness; So, on the
+ocean of life, we pass and speak one another, Only a look and a
+voice--then darkness again, and a silence.
+
+Standing there in the closet door, Missy read the stanza a second
+time--a third. And, back again at her work, fingers dawdled while
+eyes took on a dreamy, preoccupied expression. For phrases were
+still flitting through her head: "we pass and speak one another" . .
+. "then darkness again, and a silence" . . .
+
+Very far away it took you--very far, right out on the vast, surging,
+mysterious sea of Life!
+
+The sea of Life!. . . People, like ships, always meeting one
+another--only a look and a voice--and then passing on into the
+silence. . .
+
+Oh, that was an idea! Not just a shallow, sentimental pretense, but
+a real idea, "deep," stirring and fine. What a glorious Valedictory
+that would make!
+
+And presently, when she was summoned to supper, she felt no desire
+to talk; it was so pleasant just to listen to those phrases faintly
+and suggestively resounding. All the talk around her came dimly and,
+sometimes, so lost was she in hazy delight that she didn't hear a
+direct question.
+
+Finally father asked:
+
+"What's the day-dream, Missy?--thinking up a hat for me?"
+
+Missy started, and forgot to note that his enquiry was facetious.
+
+"No," she answered quite seriously, "I haven't finished Marguerite's
+yet."
+
+"Yes," cut in mother, in the tone of reproach so often heard these
+days, "she's been frittering away the whole afternoon. And not a
+glimmer for the thesis yet!"
+
+At that Missy, without thinking, unwarily said:
+
+"Oh, yes, I have, mother."
+
+"Oh," said her mother interestedly. "What is it?"
+
+Missy suddenly remembered and blushed--grown-ups seldom understand
+unless you're definite.
+
+"Well," she amended diffidently, "I've got the subject."
+
+"What is it?" persisted mother.
+
+Everybody was looking at Missy. She poured the cream over her
+berries, took a mouthful; but they all kept looking at her, waiting.
+
+"'Ships That Pass in the Night,'" she had to answer.
+
+"For Heaven's sake!" ejaculated Aunt Nettie. "What're you going to
+write about that?"
+
+This was the question Missy had been dreading. She dreaded it
+because she herself didn't know just what she was going to write
+about it. Everything was still in the first vague, delightful state
+of just feeling it--without any words as yet; and grown-ups don't
+seem to understand about this. But they were all staring at her, so
+she must say something.
+
+"Well, I haven't worked it out exactly--it's just sort of pouring in
+over me."
+
+"What's pouring over you?" demanded Aunt Nettie.
+
+"Why--the sea of Life," replied Missy desperately.
+
+"For Heaven's sake!" commented Aunt Nettie again.
+
+"It sounds vague; very vague," said father. Was he smiling or
+frowning?--he had such a queer look in his eyes. But, as he left the
+table, he paused behind her chair and laid a very gentle hand on her
+hair.
+
+"Like to go out for a spin in the car?"
+
+But mother declined for her swiftly. "No, Missy must work on her
+thesis this evening."
+
+So, after supper, Missy took tablet and pencil once more to the
+summerhouse. It was unusually beautiful out there--just the kind of
+evening to harmonize with her uplifted mood. Day was ending in still
+and brilliant serenity. The western sky an immensity of benign
+light, and draped with clouds of faintly tinted gauze.
+
+"Another day is dying," Missy began to write; then stopped.
+
+The sun sank lower and lower, a reddening ball of sacred fire and,
+as if to catch from it a spark, Missy sat gazing at it as she chewed
+her pencil; but no words came to be caught down in pencilled
+tangibility. Oh, it hurt!--all this aching sweetness in her, surging
+through and through, and not able to bring out one word!
+
+"Well?" enquired mother when, finally, she went back to the house.
+
+Missy shook her head. Mother sighed; and Missy felt the sigh echoing
+in her own heart. Why were words, relatively so much less than
+inspiration, yet so important for inspiration's expression? And why
+were they so maddeningly elusive?
+
+For a while, in her little white bed, she lay and stared hopelessly
+out at the street lamp down at the corner; the glow brought out a
+beautiful diffusive haze, a misty halo. "Only a signal shewn" . . .
+
+The winking street lamp seemed to gaze back at her. . . "Sometimes a
+signal flashes from out the darkness" . . . "Only a look" . . . "But
+who can comprehend the unfathomable influence of a look?--It may
+come to a soul wounded and despairing--a soul caught in a wide-
+sweeping tempest--a soul sad and weary, longing to give up the
+struggle. . ."
+
+Where did those words, ringing faintly in her consciousness, come
+from? She didn't know, was now too sleepy to ponder deeply. But they
+had come; that was a promising token. To-morrow more would come; the
+Valedictory would flow on out of her soul--or into her soul,
+whichever way it was0-in phrases serene, majestic, ineffable.
+
+Missy's eyelids fluttered; the street lamp's halo grew more and more
+irradiant; gleamed out to illumine, resplendently, a slender girl in
+white standing on a lighted stage, gazing with lumincus eyes out on
+a darkened auditorium, a house as hushed as when little Eva dies.
+All the people were listening to the girl up there speaking--the
+rhythmic lift and fall of her voice, the sentiments fine and noble
+and inspiring:
+
+"Ships that pass in the night and speak each other in passing. . .
+So, on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another. . . Only a
+look and a voice. . . But who can comprehend the unfathomable
+influence of a look?. . . which may come to a soul sad and weary,
+longing to give up the struggle. . ."
+
+When she awoke next morning raindrops were beating a reiterative
+plaint against the window, and the sound seemed very beautiful. She
+liked lying in bed, staring out at the upper reaches of sombre sky.
+She liked it to be rainy when she woke up--there was something about
+leaden colour everywhere and falling rain that made you fit for
+nothing but placid staring, yet, at the same time, pleasantly
+meditative. Then was the time that the strange big things which
+filter through your dreams linger evanescently in your mind to
+ponder over.
+
+"Only a look and a voice--but who can comprehend the--the--the
+unfathomable influence of a look? It may come to a soul--may come to
+a soul--"
+
+Bother! How did that go?
+
+Missy shut her eyes and tried to resummon the vision, to rehear
+those rhythmic words so fraught with wisdom. But all she saw was a
+sort of heterogeneous mass of whirling colours, and her thoughts,
+too, seemed to be just a confused and meaningless jumble. Only her
+FEELING seemed to remain. She could hardly bear it; why is it that
+you can feel with that intolerably fecund kind of ache while
+THOUGHTS refuse to come?
+
+She finally gave it up, and rose and dressed. It was one of those
+mornings when clothes seem possessed of some demon so that they
+refuse to go on right. At breakfast she was unwontedly cross, and
+"talked back" to Aunt Nettie so that mother made her apologize. At
+that moment she hated Aunt Nettie, and even almost disliked mother.
+Then she discovered that Nicky, her little brother, had
+mischievously hidden her strap of books and, all of a sudden, she
+did an unheard-of thing: she slapped him! Nicky was so astonished he
+didn't cry; he didn't even run and tell mother, but Missy, seeing
+that hurt, bewildered look on his face, felt greater remorse than
+any punishment could have evoked. She loved Nicky dearly; how could
+she have done such a thing? But she remembered having read that Poe
+and Byron and other geniuses often got irritable when in creative
+mood. Perhaps that was it. The reflection brought a certain
+consolation.
+
+But, at school, things kept on going wrong. In the Geometry class
+she was assigned the very "proposition" she'd been praying to elude;
+and, then, she was warned by the teacher--and not too privately--
+that if she wasn't careful she'd fail to pass; and that, of course,
+would mean she couldn't graduate. At the last minute to fail!--after
+Miss Simpson had started making her dress, and the invitations
+already sent to the relatives, and all!
+
+And finally, just before she started home, Professor Sutton, the
+principal, had to call her into his office for a report on her
+thesis. The manuscript had to be handed in for approval, and was
+already past due. Professor Sutton was very stern with her; he said
+some kind of an outline, anyway, had to be in by the end of the
+week. Of course, being a grown-up and a teacher besides, he believed
+everything should be done on time, and it would be useless to try to
+explain to him even if one could.
+
+Raymond Bonner was waiting to walk home with her. Raymond often
+walked home with her and Missy was usually pleased with his
+devotion; he was the handsomest and most popular boy in the class.
+But, to-day, even Raymond jarred on her. He kept talking, talking,
+and it was difficult for her preoccupied mind to find the right
+answer in the right place. He was talking about the celebrity who
+was to give the "Lyceum Course" lecture that evening. The lecturer's
+name was Dobson. Oh uninspiring name!--Ridgeley Holman Dobson. He
+was a celebrity because he'd done something-or-other heroic in the
+Spanish war. Missy didn't know just what it was, not being
+particularly interested in newspapers and current events, and remote
+things that didn't matter. But Raymond evidently knew something
+about Dobson aside from his being just prominent.
+
+"I only hope he kisses old Miss Lightner!" he said, chortling.
+
+"Kisses her?" repeated Missy, roused from her reveries. Why on earth
+should a lecturer kiss anybody, above all Miss Lightner, who was an
+old maid and not attractive despite local gossip about her being
+"man-crazy"? "Why would he kiss Miss Lightner?"
+
+Raymond looked at her in astonishment.
+
+"Why, haven't you heard about him?"
+
+Missy shook her head.
+
+"Why, he's always in the papers! Everywhere he goes, women knock
+each other down to kiss him! The papers are full of it--don't say
+you've never heard of it!"
+
+But Missy shook her head again, an expression of distaste on her
+face. A man that let women knock each other down to kiss him! Missy
+had ideals about kissing. She had never been kissed by any one but
+her immediate relatives and some of her girl friends, but she had
+her dreams of kisses--kisses such as the poets wrote about. Kissing
+was something fine, beautiful, sacred! As sacred as getting married.
+But there was nothing sacred about kissing whole bunches of people
+who knocked each other down--people you didn't even know. Missy felt
+a surge of revulsion against this Dobson who could so profane a holy
+thing.
+
+"I think it's disgusting," she said.
+
+At the unexpected harshness of her tone Raymond glanced at her in
+some surprise.
+
+"And they call him a hero!" she went on scathingly. "Oh, I guess
+he's all right," replied Raymond, who was secretly much impressed by
+the dash of Dobson. "It's just that women make fools of themselves
+over him."
+
+"You mean he makes a fool of himself! I think he's disgusting. I
+wouldn't go to hear him speak for worlds!"
+
+Raymond wisely changed the subject. And Missy soon enough forgot the
+disgusting Dobson in the press of nearer trials. She must get at
+that outline; she wanted to do it, and yet she shrank from
+beginning. As often happens when the mind is restless, she had an
+acute desire to do something with her hands. She wanted to go ahead
+with Marguerite's hat, but mother, who had a headache and was cross,
+put her foot down. "Not another minute of dawdling till you write
+that thesis!" she said, and she might as well have been Gabriel--or
+whoever it is who trumpets on the day of doom.
+
+So Missy once more took up tablet and pencil. But what's the use
+commanding your mind, "Now, write!" Your mind can't write, can it?--
+till it knows what it's going to write about. No matter how much the
+rest of you wants to write.
+
+At supper-time Missy had no appetite. Mother was too ill to be at
+the table, but father noticed it.
+
+"Haven't caught mamma's headache, have you?" he asked solicitously.
+
+Missy shook her head; she wished she could tell father it was her
+soul that ached. Perhaps father sensed something of this for, after
+glancing at her two or three times, he said:
+
+"Tell you what!--Suppose you go to the lecture with me to-night.
+Mamma says she won't feel able. What do you say?"
+
+Missy didn't care a whit to hear the disgusting Dobson, but she felt
+the reason for her reluctance mightn't be understood--might even
+arouse hateful merriment, for Aunt Nettie was sitting there
+listening. So she said evasively:
+
+"I think mother wants me to work on my thesis."
+
+"Oh, I can fix it with mother all right," said father.
+
+Missy started to demur further but, so listless was her spirit, she
+decided it would be easier to go than to try getting out of it. She
+wouldn't have to pay attention to the detestable Dobson; and she
+always loved to go places with father.
+
+And it was pleasant, after he had "fixed it" with mother, to walk
+along the dusky streets with him, her arm tucked through his as if
+she were a grown-up. Walking with him thus, not talking very much
+but feeling the placidity and sense of safety that always came over
+her in father's society, she almost forgot the offensive celebrity
+awaiting them in the Opera House.
+
+Afterward Missy often thought of her reluctance to go to that
+lecture, of how narrowly she had missed seeing Dobson. The narrow
+margins of fate! What if she hadn't gone! Oh, life is thrillingly
+uncertain and interwoven and mysterious!
+
+The Opera House was crowded. There were a lot of women there, the
+majority of them staid Cherryvale matrons who were regular
+subscribers to the Lyceum Course, but Missy, regarding them
+severely, wondered if they were there hoping to get kissed.
+
+Presently Mr. Siddons, who dealt in "Real Estate and Loans" and
+passed the plate at the Presbyterian church, came out on the
+platform with another man. Mr. Siddons was little and wiry and dark
+and not handsome; Missy didn't much care for him as it is not
+possible to admire a man who looks as if he ought to run up a tree
+and chatter and swing from a limb by a tail; besides he was well
+known to be "stingy." But his soul must be all right, since he was a
+deacon; and he was a leading citizen, and generally introduced
+speakers at the Lyceum Course. He began his familiar little mincing
+preamble: "It gives me great pleasure to have the privilege of
+introducing to you a citizen so distinguished and esteemed--"
+
+Esteemed!
+
+Then the other man walked forward and stood beside the little table
+with the glass and pitcher of water on it. Missy felt constrained to
+cast a look at the Honourable Ridgeley Holman Dobson.
+
+Well, he was rather handsome, in a way--one had to admit that; he
+was younger than you expect lecturers to be, and tall and slender,
+with awfully goodlooking clothes, and had dark eyes and a noticeable
+smile--too noticeable to be entirely sincere and spontaneous, Missy
+decided.
+
+He began to speak, about something that didn't seem particularly
+interesting to Missy; so she didn't pay much attention to what he
+was saying, but just sat there listening to the pleasing flow of his
+voice and noting the graceful sweep of his hands--she must remember
+that effective gesture of the palm held outward and up. And she
+liked the way, now and then, he threw his head back and paused and
+smiled.
+
+Suddenly she caught herself smiling, almost as if in response, and
+quickly put on a sternly grave look. This woman-kissing siren!--or
+whatever you call men that are like women sirens. Well, she, for
+one, wouldn't fall for his charms! She wouldn't rush up and knock
+other women down to kiss him!
+
+She was flaunting her disapproval before her as a sort of banner
+when, finally, the lecturer came to an end and the audience began
+their noisy business of getting out of their seats. Missy glanced
+about, suspicious yet alertly inquisitive. Would the women rush up
+and kiss him? Her eyes rested on prim Mrs. Siddons, on silly Miss
+Lightner, on fat, motherly Mrs. Allen, Kitty's mother. Poor Kitty,
+if her mother should so disgrace herself!--Missy felt a moment's
+thankfulness that her own mother was safely home in bed.
+
+A lot of people were pushing forward up the aisle toward the
+lecturer; some were already shaking hands with him--men as well as
+women.
+
+Then Missy heard herself uttering an amazing, unpremeditated thing:
+
+"Would you like to go up and shake hands with Mr. Dobson, father?"
+
+The moment after, she was horrified at herself. Why had she said
+that? She didn't want to shake hands with a repulsive siren!
+
+But father was answering:
+
+"What? You, too!"
+
+Just what did he mean by that? And by that quizzical sort of smile?
+She felt her cheeks growing hot, and wanted to look away. But, now,
+there was nothing to do but carry it through in a casual kind of
+way.
+
+"Oh," she said, "I just thought, maybe, it might be interesting to
+shake hands with such a celebrity."
+
+"I see," said father. He was still smiling but, taking hold of her
+arm, he began to elbow a slow progress toward the platform.
+
+Just before they reached it, Missy felt a sudden panicky flutter in
+her heart. She shrank back.
+
+"You go first," she whispered.
+
+So father went first and shook hands with Mr. Dobson. Then he said:
+
+"This is my daughter."
+
+Not able to lift her eyes, Missy held out her hand; she observed
+that Mr. Dobson's was long and slender but had hair on the back of
+it--he ought to do something about that; but even as she thought
+this, the hand was enclosing hers in a clasp beautifully warm and
+strong; and a voice, wonderfully deep and pleasant and vibrant, was
+heard saying:
+
+"Your daughter?--you're a man to be envied, sir."
+
+Then Missy forced her eyes upward; Mr. Dobson's were waiting to meet
+them squarely--bright dark eyes with a laugh in the back of them.
+And, then, the queerest thing happened. As he looked at her, that
+half-veiled laugh in his eyes seemed to take on a special quality,
+something personal and intimate and kindred--as if saying: "You and
+I understand, don't we?"
+
+Missy's heart gave a swift, tumultuous dive and flight.
+
+Then he let go her hand, and patiently turned his eyes to the next
+comer; but not with the same expression--Missy was sure of that. She
+walked on after her father in a kind of daze. The whole thing had
+taken scarcely a second; but, oh! what can be encompassed in a
+second!
+
+Missy was very silent during the homeward journey; she intensely
+wanted to be silent. Once father said:
+
+"Well, the man's certainly magnetic--but he seems a decent kind of
+fellow. I suppose a lot has been exaggerated." He chuckled. "But
+I'll bet some of the Cherryvale ladies are a little disappointed."
+
+"Oh, that!" Missy felt a hot flame of indignation flare up inside
+her. "He wouldn't act that way! anybody could tell. I think it's a
+crime to talk so about him!"
+
+Father gave another chuckle, very low; but Missy was too engrossed
+with her resentment and with other vague, jumbled emotions to notice
+it.
+
+That night she had difficulty in getting to sleep. And, for the
+first time in weeks, visions of Commencement failed to waft her off
+to dreams. She was hearing over and over, in a kind of lullaby, a
+deep, melodious voice: "Your daughter?--you're a man to be envied,
+sir!"--was seeing a pair of dark bright eyes, smiling into her own
+with a beam of kinship ineffable.
+
+Next day, at school, she must listen to an aftermath of gossipy
+surmise anent the disappointing osculatory hero. At last she could
+stand it no longer.
+
+"I think it's horrid to talk that way! Anybody can see he's not that
+kind of man!"
+
+Raymond Bonner stared.
+
+"Why, I thought you said he was disgusting!"
+
+But Missy, giving him a withering look, turned and walked away,
+leaving him to ponder the baffling contrarieties of the feminine
+sex.
+
+A new form of listlessness now took hold of Missy. That afternoon
+she didn't want to study, didn't want to go over to Kitty Allen's
+when her friend telephoned, didn't even want to work on hats; this
+last was a curious turn, indeed, and to a wise observer might have
+been significant. She had only a desire to be alone, and was
+grateful for the excuse her thesis provided her; though it must be
+admitted precious little was inscribed, that bright May afternoon,
+on the patient tablet which kept Missy company in the summerhouse.
+
+At supper, while the talk pivoted inevitably round the departed
+Dobson, she sat immersed in preoccupation so deep as to be
+conspicuous even in Missy. Aunt Nettie, smiling, once started to
+make a comment but, unseen by his dreaming daughter, was silenced by
+Mr. Merriam. And immediately after the meal she'd eaten without
+seeing, the faithful tablet again in hand, Missy wandered back to
+the summer-house.
+
+It was simply heavenly out there now. The whole western sky clear to
+the zenith was laid over with a solid colour of opaque saffron rose;
+and, almost halfway up and a little to the left, in exactly the
+right place, of deepest turquoise blue, rested one mountain of
+cloud; it was the shape of Fujiyama, the sacred mount of Japan,
+which was pictured in Aunt Isabel's book of Japanese prints. Missy
+wished she might see Japan--Mr. Dobson had probably been there--
+lecturers usually were great travellers. He'd probably been
+everywhere--led a thrilling sort of life--the sort of life that
+makes one interesting. Oh, if only she could talk to him--just once.
+She sighed. Why didn't interesting people like that ever come to
+Cherryvale to live? Everybody in Cherryvale was so--so commonplace.
+Like Bill Cummings, the red-haired bank teller, who thought a trip
+to St. Louis an adventure to talk about for months! Or like old Mr.
+Siddons, or Professor Sutton, or the clerks in Mr. Bonner's store.
+In Cherryvale there was only this settled, humdrum kind of people.
+Of course there were the boys; Raymond was nice--but you can't
+expect mere boys to be interesting. She recalled that smiling,
+subtly intimate glance from Mr. Dobson's eyes. Oh, if he would stay
+in Cherryvale just a week! Tf only he'd come back just once! If
+only--
+
+"Missy! The dew's falling! You'll catch your death of cold! Come in
+the house at once!"
+
+Bother! there was mother calling. But mothers must be obeyed, and
+Missy had to trudge dutifully indoors--with a tablet still blank.
+
+Next morning mother's warning about catching cold fulfilled itself.
+Missy awoke with a head that felt as big as a washtub, painfully
+laborious breath, and a wild impulse to sneeze every other minute.
+Mother, who was an ardent advocate of "taking things in time,"
+ordered a holiday from school and a footbath of hot mustard water.
+
+"This all comes from your mooning out there in the summerhouse so
+late," she chided as, with one tentative finger, she made a final
+test of the water for her daughter's feet.
+
+She started to leave the room.
+
+"Oh, mother!"
+
+"Well?" Rather impatiently Mrs. Merriam turned in the doorway.
+
+"Would you mind handing me my tablet and pencil?"
+
+"What, there in the bath?"
+
+"I just thought"--Missy paused to sneeze--"maybe I might get an
+inspiration or something, and couldn't get out to write it down."
+
+"You're an absurd child." But when she brought the tablet and
+pencil, Mrs. Merriam lingered to pull the shawl round Missy's
+shoulders a little closer; Missy always loved mother to do things
+like this it was at such times she felt most keenly that her mother
+loved her.
+
+Yet she was glad to be left alone.
+
+For a time her eyes were on her bare, scarlet feet in the yellow
+mustard water. But that unbeautiful colour combination did not
+disturb her. She did not even see her feet. She was seeing a pair of
+bright dark eyes smiling intimately into her own. Presently, with a
+dreamy, abstracted smile, she opened the tablet, poised the pencil,
+and began to write. But she was scarcely conscious of any of this,
+of directing her pencil even; it was almost as if the pencil,
+miraculously, guided itself. And it wrote.
+
+"Are you ready to take your feet out now, Missy?"
+
+Missy raised her head impatiently. It was Aunt Nettie in the door.
+What was she talking about--feet?--feet? How could Aunt Nettie?
+
+.  .  .  .  .  .
+"Oh! go away, won't you, please?" she cried vehemently.
+
+"Well, did you ever?" gasped Aunt Nettie. She stood in the doorway a
+minute; then tiptoed away. But Missy was oblivious; the inspired
+pencil was speeding back and forth again--"Then each craft passes on
+into the unutterable darkness--" and the pencil, too, went on and
+on.
+
+.  .  .  .  .  .
+
+There was a sound of tiptoeing again at the door, of whispering; but
+the author took no notice. Then someone entered, bearing a pitcher
+of hot water; but the author gave no sign. Someone poured hot water
+into the foot-tub; the author wriggled her feet.
+
+"Too hot, dear?" said mother's voice. The author shook her head
+abstractedly. Words were singing in her ears to drown all else. They
+flowed through her whole being, down her arms, out through her hand
+and pencil, wrote themselves immortally. Oh, this was Inspiration!
+Feeling at last immeshed in tangibility, swimming out on a tide of
+words that rushed along so fast pencil could hardly keep up with
+them. Oh, Inspiration! The real thing! Divine, ecstatic, but
+fleeting; it must be caught at the flood.
+
+The pencil raced.
+
+And sad, indeed, is that life which sails on its own way, wrapped in
+its own gloom, giving out no signal and heeding none, hailing not
+its fellow and heeding no hail. For the gloom will grow greater and
+greater; there will be no sympathy to tide it over the rocks; no
+momentary gleams of love to help it through its struggle; and the
+storms will rage fiercer and the sails will hang lower until, at
+last, it will go down, alone and unwept, never knowing the joy of
+living and never reaching the goal.
+
+So let these ships, which have such a vast, such an unutterable
+influence, use that influence for brightening the encompassing
+gloom. Let them not be wrapped in their own selfishness or sorrow,
+but let their voice be filled with hope and love. For, by so doing,
+the waters of Life will grow smoother, and the signals will never
+flicker.
+
+The inspired instrument lapsed from nerveless fingers; the author
+relaxed in her chair and sighed a deep sigh. All of a sudden she
+felt tired, tired; but it is a blessed weariness that comes after a
+divine frenzy has had its way with you.
+
+Almost at once mother was there, rubbing her feet with towels,
+hustling her into bed.
+
+"Now, you must keep covered up a while," she said.
+
+Missy was too happily listless to object. But, from under the hot
+blankets, she murmured:
+
+"You can read the Valedictory if you want to. It's all done."
+
+Commencement night arrived. Twenty-odd young, pulsing entities were
+lifting and lilting to a brand-new, individual experience, each one
+of them, doubtless, as firmly convinced as the class Valedictorian
+that he--or she--was the unique centre round which buzzed this
+rushing, bewitchingly upsetting occasion.
+
+Yet everyone had to admit that the Valedictorian made a tremendous
+impression: a slender girl in white standing alone on a lighted
+stage--only one person in all that assemblage was conscious that it
+was the identical spot where once stood the renowned Dobson--gazing
+with luminous eyes out on the darkened auditorium. It was crowded
+out there but intensely quiet, for all the people were listening to
+the girl up there illumined: the lift and fall of her voice, the
+sentiments fine, noble, and inspiring. They followed the slow grace
+of her arms and hands--it was, indeed, as if she held them in the
+hollow of her hand.
+
+She told all about the darkness our souls sail through under their
+sealed orders, knowing neither course nor port--and, though you may
+be calloused to these trite figures, are they not solemnly true
+enough, and moving enough, if you take them to heart? And with that
+slim child alone up there speaking these things so feelingly, it was
+easy for Cherryvale in the hushed and darkened auditorium to feel
+with her. . .
+
+Sometimes they pass oblivious of one another in the gloom; sometimes
+a signal flashes from out the darkness; a signal which is understood
+as though an intense ray pierced the enveloping pall and laid bare
+both souls. That signal is the light from a pair of human eyes,
+which are the windows of the soul, and by means of which alone soul
+can stand revealed to soul . . .
+
+The emotional impression of this was tremendous on all these dear
+Souls who had sailed alongside of Missy since she was launched.
+
+So let these ships, which have such a vast, such an unutterable
+influence, use that influence for brightening the encompassing
+gloom. . . For, by so doing, the waters of Life will grow smoother,
+and the signals will never flicker.
+
+She came to the last undulating cadence, the last vibrantly
+sustained phrase; and then, as she paused and bowed, there was a
+moment of hush--and then the applause began. Oh, what applause! And
+then, slowly, graciously, modestly but with a certain queenly pride,
+the shining figure in white turned and left the stage.
+
+Here was a noble triumph, remembered for years even by the teachers.
+Down in the audience father and mother and grandpa and grandma and
+all the other relatives who, with suspiciously wet eyes, were
+assembled in the "reserved section," overheard such murmurs as: "And
+she's seventeen!--Where do young folks get those ideas?"--and, "What
+an unusual gift of phraseology!" And, after the programme, a
+reporter from the Cherryvale Beacon came up to father and asked
+permission to quote certain passages from the Valedictory in his
+"write-up." That was the proudest moment of Mr. Merriam's entire
+life.
+
+Missy had time for only hurried congratulations from her family. For
+she must rush off to the annual Alumni banquet. She was going with
+Raymond Bonner who, now, was hovering about her more zealously than
+ever. She would have preferred to share this triumphant hour with--
+with--well, with someone older and more experienced and better able
+to understand. But she liked Raymond; once, long ago--a whole year
+ago--she'd had absurd dreams about him. Yet he was a nice boy; the
+nicest and most sought-after boy in the class. She was not unhappy
+at going off with him.
+
+Father and mother walked home alone, communing together in that
+pride-tinged-with-sadness that must, at times, come to all parents.
+
+Mother said:
+
+"And to think I was so worried! That hat-making, and then that
+special spell of idle mooning over something-or-nothing, nearly
+drove me frantic."
+
+Father smiled through the darkness.
+
+"I suppose, after all," mother mused on, surreptitiously wiping
+those prideful eyes, "that there is something in Inspiration, and
+the dear child just had to wait till she got it, and that she
+doesn't know any more than we do where it came from."
+
+"No, I daresay she doesn't." But sometimes father was more like a
+friend than a parent, and that faint, unnoted stress was the only
+sign he ever gave of what he knew about this Inspiration.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+MISSY CANS THE COSMOS
+
+
+As far back as Melissa Merriam could remember, she had lived with
+her family in the roomy, rambling, white-painted house on Locust
+Avenue. She knew intimately every detail of its being. She had, at
+various points in her childhood, personally supervised the addition
+of the ell and of the broad porch which ran round three sides of the
+house, the transformation of an upstairs bedroom into a regular
+bathroom with all the pleasing luxuries of modern plumbing, the
+installation of hardwood floors into the "front" and "back"
+parlours. She knew every mousehole in the cellar, every spider-web
+and cracked window-pane in the fascinating attic. And the yard
+without she also knew well: the friendly big elm which, whenever the
+wind blew, tapped soft leafy fingers against her own window; the
+slick green curves of the lawn; the trees best loved by the birds;
+the morning-glories on the porch which resembled fairy church bells
+ready for ringing, the mignonette in the flower-beds like fragrant
+fairy plumes, and the other flowers--all so clever at growing up
+into different shapes and colours when you considered they all came
+from little hard brown seeds. And she was familiar with the
+summerhouse back in the corner of the yard, so ineffably delicious
+in rambler-time, but so bleakly sad in winter; and the chicken-yard
+just beyond she knew, too--Missy loved that peculiar air of
+placidity which pervades even the most clucky and cackly of chicken-
+yards, and she loved the little downy chicks which were so adept at
+picking out their own mothers amongst those hens that looked all
+alike. When she was a little girl she used to wonder whether the
+mothers grieved when their children grew up and got killed and eaten
+and, for one whole summer, she wouldn't eat fried chicken though it
+was her favourite delectable.
+
+All of which means that Missy, during the seventeen years of her
+life, had never found her homely environment dull or unpleasing.
+But, this summer, she found herself longing, with a strange, secret
+but burning desire, for something "different."
+
+The feeling had started that preceding May, about the time she made
+such an impression at Commencement with her Valedictory entitled
+"Ships That Pass in the Night." The theme of this oration was the
+tremendous influence that can trail after the chancest and briefest
+encounter of two strangers. No one but herself (and her father,
+though Missy did not know it) connected Missy's eloquent handling of
+this subject with the fleeting appearance in Cherryvale of one
+Ridgeley Holman Dobson. Dobson had given a "Lyceum Course" lecture
+in the Opera House, but Missy remembered him not because of what he
+lectured about, nor because he was an outstanding hero of the recent
+Spanish-American war, nor even because of the scandalous way his
+women auditors, sometimes, rushed up and kissed him. No. She
+remembered him because . . . Oh, well, it would have been hard to
+explain concretely, even to herself; but that one second, when she
+was taking her turn shaking hands with him after the lecture, there
+was something in his dark bright eyes as they looked deeply into her
+own, something that made her wish--made her wish--
+
+It was all very vague, very indefinite. If only Cherryvale afforded
+a chance to know people like Ridgeley Holman Dobson! Unprosaic
+people, really interesting people. People who had travelled in far
+lands; who had seen unusual sights, plumbed the world's
+possibilities, done heroic deeds, laid hands on large affairs.
+
+But what chance for this in poky Cherryvale?
+
+This tranquil June morning, as Missy sat in the summerhouse with the
+latest Ladies' Home Messenger in her lap, the dissatisfied feeling
+had got deeper hold of her than usual. It was not acute discontent--
+the kind that sticks into you like a sharp splinter; it was
+something more subtle; a kind of dull hopelessness all over you. The
+feeling was not at all in accord with the scene around her. For the
+sun was shining gloriously; Locust Avenue lay wonderfully serene
+under the sunlight; the iceman's horses were pulling their enormous
+wagon as if it were not heavy; the big, perspiring iceman whistled
+as if those huge, dripping blocks were featherweight; and, in like
+manner, everybody passing along the street seemed contented and
+happy. Missy could remember the time when such a morning as this,
+such a scene of peaceful beauty, would have made her feel contented,
+too.
+
+Now she sighed, and cast a furtive glance through the leafage toward
+the house, a glance which reflected an inner uneasiness because she
+feared her mother might discover she hadn't dusted the parlours;
+mother would accuse her of "dawdling." Sighing again for grown-ups
+who seldom understand, Missy turned to the Messenger in her lap.
+
+Here was a double-page of "Women Who Are Achieving"--the reason for
+the periodical's presence in Missy's society. There was a half-tone
+of a lady who had climbed a high peak in the Canadian Rockies; Missy
+didn't much admire her unfeminine attire, yet it was something to
+get one's picture printed--in any garb. Then there was a Southern
+woman who had built up an industry manufacturing babies' shoes. This
+photograph, too, Missy studied without enthusiasm: the shoemaker was
+undeniably middle-aged and matronly in appearance; nor did the
+metier of her achievement appeal. Making babies' shoes, somehow,
+savoured too much of darning stockings. (Oh, bother! there was that
+basket of stockings mother had said positively mustn't go another
+day.)
+
+Missy's glance hurried to the next picture. It presented the only
+lady Sheriff in the state of Colorado. Missy pondered. Politics--
+Ridgeley Holman Dobson was interested in politics; his lecture had
+been about something-or-other political--she wished, now, she'd paid
+more attention to what he'd talked about. Politics, it seemed, was a
+promising field in the broadening life of women. And they always had
+a Sheriff in Cherryvale. Just what were a Sheriff's duties? And how
+old must one be to become a Sheriff? This Colorado woman certainly
+didn't look young. She wasn't pretty, either--her nose was too long
+and her lips too thin and her hair too tight; perhaps lady Sheriffs
+had to look severe so as to enforce the law.
+
+Missy sighed once more. It would have been pleasant to feel she was
+working in the same field with Ridgeley Holman Dobson.
+
+Then, suddenly, she let her sigh die half-grown as her eye came to
+the portrait of another woman who had achieved. No one could claim
+this one wasn't attractive looking. She was young and she was
+beautiful, beautiful in a peculiarly perfected and aristocratic way;
+her hair lay in meticulously even waves, and her features looked as
+though they had been chiselled, and a long ear-ring dangled from
+each tiny ear. Missy wasn't surprised to read she was a noblewoman,
+her name was Lady Sylvia Southwoode--what an adorable name!
+
+The caption underneath the picture read: "Lady Sylvia Southwoode,
+Who Readjusts--and Adorns--the Cosmos."
+
+Missy didn't catch the full editorial intent, perhaps, in that
+grouping of Lady Sylvia and the Cosmos; but she was pleased to come
+upon the word Cosmos. It was one of her pet words. It had struck her
+ear and imagination when she first encountered it, last spring, in
+Psychology IV-A. Cosmos--what an infinity of meaning lay behind the
+two-syllabled sound! And the sound of it, too, sung itself over in
+your mind, rhythmic and fascinating. There was such a difference in
+words; some were but poor, bald things, neither suggesting very much
+nor very beautiful to hear. Then there were words which were
+beautiful to hear, which had a rich sound--words like "mellifluous"
+and "brocade" and "Cleopatra." But "Cosmos" was an absolutely
+fascinating word--perfectly round, without beginning or end. And it
+was the kind to delight in not only for its wealth, so to speak, for
+all it held and hinted, but also for itself alone; it was a word of
+sheer beauty.
+
+She eagerly perused the paragraph which explained the manner in
+which Lady Sylvia was readjusting--and adorning--the Cosmos. Lady
+Sylvia made speeches in London's West End--wherever that was--and
+had a lot to do with bettering the Housing Problem--whatever that
+was--and was noted for the distinguished gatherings at her home.
+This alluring creature was evidently in politics, too!
+
+Missy's eyes went dreamily out over the yard, but they didn't see
+the homely brick-edged flowerbeds nor the red lawn-swing nor the
+well-worn hammock nor the white picket fence in her direct line of
+vision. They were contemplating a slight girlish figure who was
+addressing a large audience, somewhere, speaking with swift, telling
+phrases that called forth continuous ripples of applause. It was all
+rather nebulous, save for the dominant girlish figure, which bore a
+definite resemblance to Melissa Merriam.
+
+Then, with the sliding ease which obtains when fancy is the stage
+director, the scene shifted. Vast, elaborately beautiful grounds
+rolled majestically up to a large, ivy-draped house, which had
+turrets like a castle--very picturesque. At the entrance was a
+flight of wide stone steps, overlaid, now, with red carpet and
+canopied with a striped awning. For the mistress was entertaining
+some of the nation's notables. In the lofty hall and spacious rooms
+glided numberless men-servants in livery, taking the wraps of the
+guests, passing refreshments, and so forth. The guests were very
+distinguished-looking, all the men in dress suits and appearing just
+as much at home in them as Ridgeley Holman Dobson had, that night on
+the Opera House stage. Yes, and he was there, in Missy's vision,
+handsomer than ever with his easy smile and graceful gestures and
+that kind of intimate look in his dark eyes, as he lingered near the
+hostess whom he seemed to admire. All the women were in low-cut
+evening dresses of softly-tinted silk or satin, with their hair
+gleaming in sleek waves and long ear-rings dangling down. The young
+hostess wore ear-rings, also; deep-blue gems flashed out from them,
+to match her trailing deep blue velvet gown--Raymond Bonnet had once
+said Missy should always wear that special shade of deep blue.
+
+Let us peep at the actual Missy as she sits there dreaming: she has
+neutral-tinted brown hair, very soft and fine, which encircles her
+head in two thick braids to meet at the back under a big black bow;
+that bow, whether primly-set or tremulously-askew, is a fair
+barometer of the wearer's mood. The hair is undeniably straight, a
+fact which has often caused Missy moments of concern. (She used to
+envy Kitty Allen her tangling, light-catching curls till Raymond
+Bonner chanced to remark he considered curly hair "messy looking";
+but Raymond's approval, for some reason, doesn't seem to count for
+as much as it used to, and, anyway, he is spending the summer in
+Michigan.) However, just below that too-demure parting, the eyes are
+such as surely to give her no regret. Twin morning-glories, we would
+call them-grey morning-glories!--opening expectant and shining to
+the Sun which always shines on enchanted seventeen. And, like other
+morning-glories, Missy's eyes are the shyest of flowers, ready to
+droop sensitively at the first blight of misunderstanding. That is
+the chiefest trouble of seventeen: so few are there, especially
+among old people, who seem to "understand." And that is why one must
+often retire to the summerhouse or other solitary places where one
+can without risk of ridicule let one's dreams out for air.
+
+Presently she shook off her dreams and returned to the scarcely less
+thrilling periodical which had evoked them. Here was another
+photograph--though not nearly so alluring as that of the Lady
+Sylvia; a woman who had become an authoritative expounder of
+political and national issues--politics again! Missy proceeded to
+read, but her full interest wasn't deflected till her eyes came to
+some thought-compelling words:
+
+"It was while yet a girl in her teens, in a little Western town
+("Oh!" thought Missy), that Miss Carson mounted the first rung of
+the ladder she has climbed to such enviable heights. She had just
+graduated from the local high school ("Oh! oh!" thought Missy) and,
+already prodded by ambition, persuaded the editor of the weekly
+paper to give her a job. . ."
+
+Once again Missy's eyes wandered dreamily out over the yard. . .
+
+Presently a voice was wafted out from the sideporch:
+
+"Missy!--oh, Missy! Where are you?"
+
+There was mother calling--bother! Missy picked up the Ladies' Home
+Messenger and trudged back to bondage.
+
+"What in the world do you mean, Missy? You could write your name all
+over the parlour furniture for dust! And then those stockings--"
+
+Missy dutifully set about her tasks. Yet, ah! it certainly is hard
+to dust and darn while one's soul is seething within one, straining
+to fly out on some really high enterprise of life. However one can,
+if one's soul strains hard enough, dust and dream; darn and dream.
+Especially if one has a helpful lilt, rhythmic to dust-cloth's
+stroke or needle's swing, throbbing like a strain of music through
+one's head:
+
+Cosmos--Cosmos!--Cosmos--Cosmos!
+
+Missy was absent-eyed at the midday dinner, but no sooner was the
+meal over before she feverishly attacked the darning-basket again.
+Her energy may have been explained when, as soon as the stockings
+were done, she asked her mother if she might go down to the Library.
+
+Mother and Aunt Nettie from their rocking-chairs on the side-porch
+watched the slim figure in its stiffly-starched white duck skirt and
+shirt-waist disappear down shady Locust Avenue.
+
+"I wonder what Missy's up to, now?" observed Aunt Nettie.
+
+"Up to?" murmured Mrs. Merriam.
+
+"Yes. She hardly touched her chop at dinner and she's crazy about
+lamb chops. She's eaten almost nothing for days. And either shirking
+her work, else going at it in a perfect frenzy!"
+
+"Growing girls get that way sometimes," commented Missy's mother
+gently. (Could Missy have heard and interpreted that tone, she might
+have been less hard on grown-ups who "don't understand.") "Missy's
+seventeen, you know."
+
+"H'm!" commented Aunt Nettie, as if to say, "What's THAT to do with
+it?" Somehow it seems more difficult for spinsters than for mothers
+to remember those swift, free flights of madness and sweetness
+which, like a troop of birds in the measurable heavens, sweep in
+joyous circles across the sky of youth.
+
+Meanwhile Missy, the big ribbon index under her sailor-brim
+palpitantly askew, was progressing down Locust Avenue with a
+measured, accented gait that might have struck an observer as being
+peculiar. The fact was that the refrain vibrating through her soul
+had found its way to her feet. She'd hardly been conscious of it at
+first. She was just walking along, in time to that inner song:
+
+"Cosmos--cosmos--cosmos--cosmos--"
+
+And then she noticed she was walking with even, regular steps,
+stepping on every third crack in the board sidewalk, and that each
+of these cracks she stepped on ran, like a long punctuation, right
+through the middle of "cosmos." So that she saw in her mind this
+picture: |Cos|mos| |cos|mos| |cos|mos| |cos|mos|
+
+It was fascinating, watching the third cracks punctuate her thoughts
+that way. Then it came to her that it was a childish sort of game--
+she was seventeen, now. So she avoided watching the cracks. But
+"Cosmos" went on singing through her head and soul.
+
+She came to Main Street and, ignoring the turn eastward which led to
+the Public Library, faced deliberately in the opposite direction.
+
+She was, in fact, bound for the office of the Beacon--the local
+weekly. And thoughts of what tremendous possibilities might be
+stretching out from this very hour, and of what she would say to Ed
+Martin, the editor, made her feet now skim along impatiently, and
+now slow down with sudden, self-conscious shyness.
+
+For Missy, even when there was no steadily nearing imminence of
+having to reveal her soul, on general principles was a little in awe
+of Ed Martin and his genial ironies. Ed Martin was not only a local
+celebrity. His articles were published in the big Eastern magazines.
+He went "back East" once a year, and it was said that on one
+occasion he had dined with the President himself. Of course that was
+only a rumour; but Cherryvale had its own eyes for witness that
+certain persons had stopped off in town expressly to see Ed Martin--
+personages whose names made you take notice!
+
+Missy, her feet terribly reluctant now, her soul's song barely a
+whisper, found Ed Martin shirt-sleeved in his littered little
+sanctum at the back of the Beacon office.
+
+"Why, hello, Missy!" he greeted, swinging round leisurely in his
+revolving-chair. Ed Martin was always so leisurely in his movements
+that the marvel was how he got so much accomplished. Local
+dignitaries of the most admired kind, perhaps, wear their
+distinction as a kind of toga; but Ed was plump and short, with his
+scant, fair hair always rumpled, and a manner as friendly as a
+child's.
+
+"Haven't got another Valedictory for us to print, have you?" he went
+on genially.
+
+Missy blushed. "I just dropped in for a minute," she began uneasily.
+"I was just thinking--" She hesitated and paused.
+
+"Yes," said Ed Martin encouragingly.
+
+"I was just thinking--that perhaps--" She clasped her hands tightly
+together and fixed her shining eyes on him in mute appeal. Then:
+
+"You see, Mr. Martin, sometimes it comes over you--" She broke off
+again.
+
+Ed Martin was regarding her out of friendly blue eyes.
+
+"Maybe I can guess what sometimes comes over you. You want to write-
+-is that it?"
+
+His kindly voice and manner emboldened her.
+
+"Yes--it's part that. And a feeling that--Oh, it's so hard to put
+into words, Mr. Martin!"
+
+"I know; feelings are often hard to put into words. But they're
+usually the most worth while kind of feelings. And that's what words
+are for."
+
+"Well, I was just feeling that at my age--that I was letting my life
+slip away--accomplishing nothing really worth while. You know--?"
+
+"Yes, we all feel like that sometimes, I guess." Ed Martin nodded
+with profound solemnity.
+
+Oh, Ed Martin was wonderful! He DID understand things! She went
+ahead less tremulously now.
+
+"And I was feeling I wanted to get started at something. At
+something REALLY worth while, you know."
+
+Ed Martin nodded again.
+
+"And I thought, maybe, you could help me get started--or something."
+She gazed at him with open-eyed trust, as if she expected him with a
+word to solve her undefined problem.
+
+"Get started?--at writing, you mean?"
+
+Oh, how wonderfully Ed Martin understood!
+
+He shuffled some papers on his desk. "Just what do you want to
+write, Missy?"
+
+"I don't know, exactly. When I can, I'd like to write something sort
+of political--or cosmic."
+
+"Oh," said Ed Martin, nodding. He shuffled the papers some more.
+Then: "Well, when that kind of a germ gets into the system, I guess
+the best thing to do is to get it out before it causes mischief. If
+it coagulates in the system, it can cause a lot of mischief."
+
+Just what did he mean?
+
+"Yes, a devil of a lot of mischief," he went on. "But the trouble
+is, Missy, we haven't got any job on politics or--or the cosmos open
+just now. But--"
+
+He paused, gazing over her head. Missy felt her heart pause, too.
+
+"Oh, anykind of a writing job," she proffered quaveringly.
+
+"I can't think of anything here that's not taken care of, except"--
+his glance fell on the ornate-looking "society page" of the Macon
+City Sunday Journal, spread out on his desk--"a society column."
+
+In her swift breath of ecstasy Missy forgot to note the twinkle in
+his eye.
+
+"Oh, I'd love to write society things!" Ed Martin sat regarding her
+with a strange expression on his face.
+
+"Well," he said at last, as if to himself, "why not?" Then,
+addressing her directly: "You may consider yourself appointed
+official Society Editor of the Cherryvale Beacon."
+
+The title rolled with surpassing resonance on enchanted ears. She
+barely caught his next remark.
+
+"And now about the matter of salary--"
+
+Salary! Missy straightened up.
+
+"What do you say to five dollars a week?" he asked.
+
+Five dollars a week!--Five dollars every week! And earned by
+herself! Missy's eyes grew big as suns.
+
+"Is that satisfactory?"
+
+"Oh, YES!"
+
+"Well, then," he said, "I'll give you free rein. Just get your copy
+in by Wednesday night--we go to press Thursdays--and I promise to
+read every word of it myself."
+
+"Oh," she said.
+
+There were a thousand questions she'd have liked to ask, but Ed
+Martin, smiling a queer kind of smile, had turned to his papers as
+if anxious to get at them. No; she mustn't begin by bothering him
+with questions. He was a busy man, and he'd put this new, big
+responsibility on HER--"a free rein," he had said. And she must live
+up to that trust; she must find her own way--study up the problem of
+society editing, which, even if not her ideal, yet was a wedge to
+who-knew-what? And meanwhile perhaps she could set a new standard
+for society columns--brilliant and clever . . .
+
+Missy left the Beacon office, suffused with emotions no pen, not
+even her own, could ever have described.
+
+Ed Martin, safely alone, allowed himself the luxury of an extensive
+grin. Then, even while he smiled, his eyes sobered.
+
+"Poor young one." He sighed and shook his head, then took up the
+editorial he was writing on the delinquencies of the local
+waterworks administration.
+
+Meanwhile Missy, moving slowly back up Main Street, was walking on
+something much softer and springier than the board sidewalk under
+her feet.
+
+She didn't notice even the cracks, now. The acquaintances who passed
+her, and the people sitting contentedly out on their shady porches,
+seemed in a different world from the one she was traversing.
+
+She had never known this kind of happiness before--exploring a dream
+country which promised to become real. Now and then a tiny cloud
+shadowed the radiance of her emotions: just how would she begin?--
+what should she write about and how?--but swiftly her thoughts
+flitted back to that soft, warm, undefined deliciousness. . .
+
+Society Editor!--she, Melissa Merriam! Her words would be
+immortalized in print! and she would soar up and up. . . Some day,
+in the big magazines . . . Everybody would read her name there--all
+Cherryvale--and, perhaps, Ridgeley Holman Dobson would chance a
+brilliant, authoritative article on some deep, vital subject and
+wish to meet the author.
+
+She might even have to go to New York to live--New York! And
+associate with the interesting, delightful people there. Maybe he
+lived in New York, or, anyway, visited there, associating with
+celebrities.
+
+She wished her skirts were long enough to hold up gracefully like
+Polly Currier walking over there across the street; she wished she
+had long, dangling ear-rings; she wished . . .
+
+Dreamy-eyed, the Society Editor of the Cherryvale Beacon turned in
+at the Merriam gate to announce her estate to an amazed family
+circle.
+
+Aunt Nettie, of course, ejaculated, "goodness gracious!" and
+laughed. But mother was altogether sweet and satisfying. She looked
+a little startled at first, but she came over and smoothed her
+daughter's hair while she listened, and, for some reason, was
+unusually tender all the afternoon.
+
+That evening at supper-time, Missy noticed that mother walked down
+the block to meet father, and seemed to be talking earnestly with
+him on their way toward the house. Missy hadn't much dreaded
+father's opposition. He was an enormous, silent man and the young
+people stood in a certain awe of him, but Missy, somehow, felt
+closer to him than to most old people.
+
+When he came up the steps to the porch where she waited, blushing
+and palpitant but withal feeling a sense of importance, he greeted
+her jovially. "Well, I hear we've got a full-fledged writer in our
+midst!"
+
+Missy's blush deepened.
+
+"What _I_ want to know," father continued, "is who's going to darn
+my socks? I'm afraid socks go to the dickens when genius flies in at
+the window."
+
+As Missy smiled back at him she resolved, despite everything, to
+keep father's socks in better order than ever before.
+
+During supper the talk kept coming back to the theme of her Work,
+but in a friendly, unscoffing way so that Missy knew her parents
+were really pleased. Mother mentioned Mrs. Brooks's "bridge"
+Thursday afternoon--that might make a good write-up. And father said
+he'd get her a leather-bound notebook next day. And when, after
+supper, instead of joining them on the porch, she brought tablet and
+pencil and a pile of books and placed them on the dining-table,
+there were no embarrassing comments, and she was left alone with her
+thrills and puzzlements.
+
+Among the books were Stevenson's "Some Technical Considerations of
+Style," George Eliot's "Romola" and Carlyle's "Sartor Resartus"; the
+latter two being of the kind that especially lifted you to a mood of
+aching to express things beautifully. Missy liked books that lifted
+you up. She loved the long-drawn introspections of George Eliot and
+Augusta J. Evans; the tender whimsy of Barrie as she'd met him
+through "Margaret Ogilvie" and "Sentimental Tommy"; the fascinating
+mysteries of Marie Corelli; the colourful appeal of "To Have and To
+Hold" and the other "historical romances" which were having a vogue
+in that era; and Kipling's India!--that was almost best of all. She
+had outgrown most of her earlier loves--Miss Alcott whom she'd once
+known intimately, and "Little Lord Fauntleroy" and "The Birds'
+Christmas Carol" had survived, too, her brief illicit passion for
+the exotic product of "The Duchess." And she didn't respond keenly
+to many of the "best sellers" which were then in their spectacular,
+flamboyantly advertised heyday; somehow they failed to stimulate the
+mind, stir the imagination, excite the emotions--didn't lift you up.
+Yet she could find plenty of books in the Library which satisfied.
+
+Now she sat, reading the introspections of "Romola" till she felt
+her own soul stretching out--up and beyond the gas table-lamp
+glowing there in such lovely serenity through its gold-glass shade;
+felt it aching to express something, she knew not what.
+
+Some day, perhaps, after she had written intellectual essays about
+Politics and such things, she might write about Life. About Life
+itself! And the Cosmos!
+
+Her chin sank to rest upon her palm. How beautiful were those pink
+roses in their leaf-green bowl--like a soft piece of music or a
+gently flowing poem. Maybe Mrs. Brooks would have floral decorations
+at her bridge-party. She hoped so--then she could write a really
+satisfying kind of paragraph--flowers were always so inspiring.
+Those pink petals were just about to fall. Yet, somehow, that made
+them seem all the lovelier. She could almost write a poem about that
+idea! Would Mr. Martin mind if, now and then, she worked in a little
+verse or two? It would make Society reporting more interesting. For,
+she had to admit, Society Life in Cherryvale wasn't thrilling. Just
+lawn-festivals and club meetings and picnics at the Waterworks and
+occasional afternoon card-parties where the older women wore their
+Sunday silks and exchanged recipes and household gossip. If only
+there was something interesting--just a little dash of "atmosphere."
+If only they drank afternoon tea, or talked about Higher Things, or
+smoked cigarettes, or wore long ear-rings! But, perhaps, some day--
+in New York . . .
+
+Missy's head drooped; she felt deliciously drowsy. Into the silence
+of her dreams a cheerful voice intruded:
+
+"Missy, dear, it's after ten o'clock and you're nodding! Oughtn't
+you go up to bed?"
+
+"All right, mother." Obediently she took her dreams upstairs with
+her, and into her little white bed.
+
+Thursday afternoon, all shyness and importance strangely compounded,
+Missy carried a note-book to Mrs. Brooks's card-party. It was
+agreeable to hear Mrs. Brooks effusively explain: "Missy's working
+on the Beacon now, you know"; and to feel two dozen pairs of eyes
+upon her as she sat writing down the list of guests; and to be
+specially led out to view the refreshment-table. There was a
+profusion of flowers, but as Mrs. Brooks didn't have much "taste"
+Missy didn't catch the lilt of inspiration she had hoped for.
+
+However, after she had worked her "write-up" over several times, she
+prefixed a paragraph on the decorations which she hoped would atone
+for the drab prosiness of the rest. It ran:
+
+"Through the softly-parted portieres which separate Mrs. J. Barton
+Brooks's back-parlour from the dining room came a gracious emanation
+of scent and colour. I stopped for a moment in the doorway, and saw,
+abloom there before me, a magical maze of flowers. Flowers! Oh,
+multifold fragrance and tints divine which so ineffably enrich our
+lives! Does anyone know whence they come? Those fragile fairy
+creatures whose housetop is the sky; wakened by golden dawn; for
+whom the silver moon sings lullaby. Yes; sunlight it is, and blue
+sky and green earth, that endow them with their mysterious beauty;
+these, and the haze of rain that filters down when clouds rear their
+sullen heads. Sun and sky, and earth and rain; they alone may know--
+know the secrets of these fairy-folk who, from their slyly-opened
+petals, watch us at our hurrying business of life. . . We, mere
+humans, can never know. With us it must suffice to sweeten our
+hearts with the memory of fragrant flowers."
+
+She was proud of that opening paragraph. But Ed Martin blue-
+pencilled it.
+
+"Short of space this week," he said. "Either the flowers must go or
+'those present.' It's always best to print names." "Is the rest of
+it all right?" asked Missy, crest-fallen.
+
+"Well," returned Ed, with whom everything had gone wrong that day
+and who was too hurried to remember the fluttering pinions of Youth,
+"I guess it's printable, anyhow."
+
+It was "printable," and it did come out in print--that was
+something! For months the printed account of Mrs. Brooks's "bridge"
+was treasured in the Merriam archives, to be brought out and passed
+among admiring relatives. Yes, that was something! But, as habitude
+does inevitably bring a certain staleness, so, as the pile of little
+clipped reports grew bigger Missy's first prideful swell in them
+grew less.
+
+Perhaps it would have been different had not the items always been,
+perforce, so much the same.
+
+There was so little chance to be "original"--one must use the same
+little forms and phrases over and over again: "A large gathering
+assembled on Monday night at the home of--" "Mrs. So-and-so, who has
+been here visiting Mrs. What's-her-name, has returned--" One must
+crowd as much as possible into as little space as possible. That was
+hard on Missy, who loved words and what words could do. She wasn't
+allowed much latitude with words even for "functions." "Function"
+itself had turned out to be one of her most useful words since it
+got by Ed Martin and, at the same time, lent the reported affair a
+certain distinguished air.
+
+It was at a function--an ice-cream festival given by the
+Presbyterian ladies on Mrs. Paul Bonner's lawn--that Missy met
+Archie Briggs.
+
+She had experienced a curious, vague stir of emotions about going to
+the Bonner home that evening; it was the first time she'd ever gone
+there when Raymond Bonner wasn't present. Raymond was the handsomest
+and most popular boy in her "crowd," and she used to be secretly
+pleased when he openly admired her more than he did the other girls-
+-indeed, there had been certain almost sentimental passages between
+Raymond and Missy. Of course all that happened before her horizon
+had "broadened"--before she encountered a truly distinguished person
+like Ridgeley Holman Dobson.
+
+Yet memories can linger to disturb, and Missy was accompanied by
+memories that moonlit Wednesday evening when, in her "best" dress of
+pale pink organdie, she carried her note-book to the Bonners' to
+report the lawn-festival.
+
+She had hesitated over the pink organdie; not many of the "crowd"
+were going, and it was to be for her a professional rather than a
+social occasion. Perhaps it was sentiment that carried the day.
+Anyway, she was soon to be glad she'd worn the pink organdie.
+
+Before she had a chance to get in any professional work, Mrs. Bonner
+bore down on her with a tall young man, a stranger.
+
+"Oh, Missy! I want you to meet Raymond's cousin, Archie Briggs.
+Archie, this is one of Raymond's friends, Miss Merriam." Missy was
+grateful for that "Miss Merriam."
+
+"Pleased to meet you, Miss Merriam," said Mr. Briggs. He was dark
+and not very good-looking--not nearly so good-looking as Raymond--
+but there was something in his easy, self-assured manner that struck
+her as very distingue. She was impressed, too, by the negligent way
+in which he wore his clothes; not nearly so "dressed-up" looking as
+the Cherryvale boys, yet in some subtle way declassing them. She was
+pleased that he seemed to be pleased with her; he asked her to
+"imbibe" some ice-cream with him.
+
+They sat at one of the little tables out on the edge of the crowd.
+From there the coloured paper lanterns, swaying on the porch and
+strung like fantastic necklaces across the lawn, were visible yet
+not too near; far enough away to make it all look like an unreal,
+colourful picture. And, above all, a round orange moon climbing up
+the sky, covering the scene with light as with golden water, and
+sending black shadows to crawl behind bushes and trees.
+
+It was all very beautiful; and Mr. Briggs, though he didn't speak of
+the scene at all, made a peculiarly delightful companion for that
+setting. He was "interesting."
+
+He talked easily and in a way that put her at her ease. She learned
+that he and his sister, Louise, had stopped off in Cherryvale for a
+few days; they were on their way back to their home in Keokuk, Iowa,
+from a trip to California. Had Miss Merriam ever been in California?
+No; she'd never been in California. Missy hated to make the
+admission; but Mr. Briggs seemed the kind of youth not to hold it
+against a pretty girl to give him a chance to exploit his travels.
+She was a flattering listener. And when, after California had been
+disposed of, he made a wide sweep to "the East," where, it
+developed, he attended college--had Miss Merriam ever been back
+East?
+
+No; she'd never been back East. And then, with a big-eyed and
+appreciatively murmuring auditor, he dilated on the supreme
+qualities of that foreign spot, on the exotic delights of football
+and regattas and trips down to New York for the "shows." Yes, he was
+"interesting"! Listening, Missy forgot even Mr. Ridgeley Holman
+Dobson. Here was one who had travelled far, who had seen the world,
+who had drunk deep of life, and who, furthermore, was near to her
+own age. And, other things being equal, nothing can call as youth
+calls youth. She wasn't conscious, at the time, that her idol was in
+danger of being replaced, that she was approaching something akin to
+faithlessness; but something came about soon which brought her a
+vague disturbance.
+
+Missy, who had all but forgotten that she was here for a serious
+purpose, suddenly explained she had to get her "copy" into the
+office by ten o'clock; for the paper went to press next morning.
+
+"I must go now and see some of the ladies," she said reluctantly.
+
+"Well, of course, if you'd rather talk to the ladies--" responded
+Mr. Briggs, banteringly. "Oh, it's not that!" She felt a sense of
+satisfaction, in her own importance as she went on to explain:
+
+"I want to ask details and figures and so forth for my report in the
+paper--I'm society editor of the Beacon, you know."
+
+"Society editor!--you? For Pete's sake!"
+
+At first Missy took his tone to denote surprised admiration, and her
+little thrill of pride intensified.
+
+But he went on:
+
+"What on earth are you wasting time on things like that for?"
+
+"Wasting time--?" she repeated. Her voice wavered a little.
+
+"I'd never have suspected you of being a highbrow," Mr. Briggs
+continued.
+
+Missy felt a surge akin to indignation--he didn't seem to appreciate
+her importance, after all. But resentment swiftly gave way to a kind
+of alarm: why didn't he appreciate it?
+
+"Don't you like highbrows?" she asked, trying to smile.
+
+"Oh, I suppose they're all right in their place," said Mr. Briggs
+lightly. "But I never dreamed you were a highbrow."
+
+It was impossible not to gather that this poised young man of the
+world esteemed her more highly in his first conception of her.
+Impelled by the eternal feminine instinct to catch at possibly
+flattering personalities, Missy asked:
+
+"What did you think I was?" "Well," replied Mr. Briggs, smiling, "I
+thought you were a mighty pretty girl--the prettiest I've seen in
+this town." (Missy couldn't hold down a fluttering thrill, even
+though she felt a premonition that certain lofty ideals were about
+to be assailed.)
+
+"The kind of girl who likes to dance and play tennis and be a good
+sport, and all that."
+
+"But can't a--" Missy blushed; she'd almost said "a pretty girl.
+"Can't that kind of girl be--intellectual, too?"
+
+"The saints forbid!" ejaculated Mr. Briggs with fervour.
+
+"But don't you think that everyone ought to try--to enlarge one's
+field of vision?"
+
+At that Mr. Briggs threw back his head and laughed a laugh of
+unrestrained delight.
+
+"Oh, it's too funny!" he chortled. "That line of talk coming from a
+girl who looks like you do!"
+
+Even at that disturbed moment, when she was hearing sacrilege aimed
+at her most cherished ideals--perilously swaying ideals, had she but
+realized it--Missy caught the pleasing significance of his last
+phrase, and blushed again. Still she tried to stand up for those
+imperilled ideals, forcing herself to ask:
+
+"But surely you admire women who achieve--women like George Eliot
+and Frances Hodgson Burnett and all those?"
+
+"I'd hate to have to take one of them to a dance," said Mr. Briggs.
+
+Missy turned thoughtful; there were sides to "achievement" she
+hadn't taken into consideration. "Speaking of dances," Mr. Briggs
+was continuing, "my aunt's going to give Louise and me a party
+before we go--maybe Saturday night."
+
+A party! Missy felt a thrill that wasn't professional.
+
+Mr. Briggs leaned closer, across the little table. "If you're not
+already booked up," he said, "may I call for you Saturday night?"
+
+Missy was still disturbed by some of the things Mr. Briggs had said.
+But it was certainly pleasant to have a visiting young man--a young
+man who lived in Keokuk and travelled in California and attended
+college in the East--choose her for his partner at his own party.
+
+Later that night at the Beacon office, after she had turned in her
+report of the Presbyterian ladies' fete, she lingered at her desk.
+She was in the throes of artistic production:
+
+"Mr. Archibald Briggs of Keokuk is visiting Mr. and Mrs. Paul
+Bonner."
+
+That was too bald; not rich enough. She tried again:
+
+"Mr. Archibald Briggs of Keokuk, Iowa, is visiting at the residence
+of Mr. and Mrs. Paul Bonner on Maple Avenue."
+
+Even that didn't lift itself up enough out of the ordinary. Missy
+puckered her brows; a moist lock fell down and straggled across her
+forehead. With interlineations, she enlarged:
+
+"Mr. Archibald Briggs, who has been travelling in California and the
+Far West, on his way to his home in Keokuk, Iowa, is visiting at the
+residence of Mr. and Mrs. Paul Bonner "in Maple Avenue."
+
+An anxious scrutiny; and then "on his way" was amended to "en
+route."
+
+That would almost do. And then, as she regarded the finished item, a
+curious feeling crept over her: a sort of reluctance, distaste for
+having it printed--printing it herself, as it were. That seemed,
+somehow, too--too public. And then, as she sat in a maze of strange
+emotions, a sudden thought came to the rescue:
+
+His sister--Louise! She'd forgotten to include Louise! How terrible
+if she'd left out his sister! And adding the second name would
+remove the personal note. She quickly interlined again, and the item
+stood complete:
+
+"Mr. Archibald Briggs and Miss Louise Briggs, who have been
+travelling in California and the Far West, en route to their home in
+Keokuk, Iowa, are visiting at the residence of Mr. and Mrs. Paul
+Bonner in Maple Avenue."
+
+As her father entered the office to take her home, Missy gave a deep
+sigh, a sigh of mingled satisfaction and exhaustion such as seals a
+difficult task well done.
+
+Late as it was when she reached home, Missy lingered long before her
+mirror. With the aid of a hand-glass she critically studied her pink
+organdie from every angle. She wished she had a new dress; a
+delicate wispy affair of cream net--the colour of moonlight--would
+be lovely and aristocratic-looking. And with some subtle but
+distinguished colour combination, like dull blue and lilac, for the
+girdle. That would be heavenly. But one can't have a new dress for
+every party. Missy sighed, and tilted back the dresser mirror so as
+to catch the swing of skirt about her shoe-tops. She wished the
+skirt was long and trailing; there was a cluster of tucks above the
+hem--maybe mother would allow her to let one out; she'd ask to-
+morrow.
+
+Then she tilted the mirror back to its normal position; maybe mother
+would allow her to turn in the neck just a wee bit lower--like this.
+That glimpse of throat would be pretty, especially with some kind of
+necklace. She got out her string of coral. No. The jagged shape of
+coral was effective and the colour was effective, but it didn't "go"
+with pale pink. She held up her string of pearl beads. That was
+better. But ah! if only she had some long pearl pendants, to dangle
+down from each ear; she knew just how to arrange her hair--something
+like Lady Sylvia Southwoode's--so as to set them off.
+
+She was engaged in parting her hair in the centre and rolling it
+back in simple but aristocratic-looking "puffs" on either side--she
+did look the least bit like Lady Sylvia!--when she heard her
+mother's voice calling:
+
+"Missy! haven't you gone to bed yet?"
+
+"No, mother," she answered meekly, laying down the brush very
+quietly.
+
+"What on earth are you doing?"
+
+"Nothing--I'm going to bed right now," she answered, more meekly
+yet. "You'd better," came the unseen voice. "You've got to get up
+early if you're going to the picnic."
+
+The picnic--oh, bother! Missy had forgotten the picnic. If it had
+been a picnic of her own "crowd" she would not have forgotten it,
+but she was attending this function because of duty instead of
+pleasure.
+
+And it isn't especially interesting to tag along with a lot of
+children and their Sunday-school teachers.
+
+She wondered if, maybe, she could manage to get her "report" without
+actually going.
+
+But she'd already forgotten the picnic by the time she crept into
+her little bed, across which the moon, through the window, spread a
+shining breadth of silver. She looked at the strip of moonlight
+drowsily--how beautiful moonlight was! And when it gleamed down on
+dewy grass . . . everything outdoors white and magical . . . and
+dancing on the porch . . . he must be a wonderful dancer--those
+college boys always were . . . music . . . the scent of flowers . .
+. "the prettiest girl I've seen in this town" . . .
+
+Yes; the bothersome picnic was forgotten; and the Beacon, alluring
+stepping-stone to achievements untold; yes, even Ridgeley Holman
+Dobson himself.
+
+The moon, moving its gleaming way slowly up the coverlet, touched
+tenderly the face of the sleeper, kissed the lips curved into a
+soft, dreaming smile. Missy went to the picnic next day, for her
+mother was unsympathetic toward the suggestion of contriving a
+"report." "Now, Missy, don't begin that again! You're always
+starting out to ride some enthusiasm hard, and then letting it die
+down. You must learn to see things through. Now, go and get your
+lunch ready."
+
+Missy meekly obeyed. It wasn't the first time she'd been rebuked for
+her unstable temperament. She was meek and abashed; yet it is not
+uninteresting to know one possesses an unstable temperament which
+must be looked after lest it prove dangerous. The picnic was as dull
+as she had feared it would be. She usually liked children but, that
+day, the children at first were too riotously happy and then, as
+they tired themselves out, got cross and peevish. Especially the
+Smith children. One of the teachers said the oldest little Smith
+girl seemed to have fever; she was sick--as if that excused her
+acting like a little imp! She ought to have been kept at home--the
+whole possessed Smith tribe ought to have been kept at home!
+
+Missy wished she herself were at home. She'd probably missed a
+telephone call from Mr. Briggs--he had said he might call up. She
+could hardly wait to reach home and find out.
+
+Yes; he had telephoned. Also Mrs. Bonner, inviting Missy to a party
+on Saturday night. Missy brightened. She broached the subject of
+letting out a tuck. But mother said the pink organdie was long
+enough--too long, really. And Aunt Nettie chimed in:
+
+"Why is it that girls can never get old quickly enough? The time'll
+come soon enough when they'll wish they could wear short dresses
+again!" Missy listened with inner rebellion. Why did old people
+always talk that way--that "you-don't-appreciate-you're-having-the-
+best-time-of-your-life" sort of thing?
+
+Next day was Friday--the day before the party.
+
+It was also "cleaning day" at the Merriams' and, though Missy felt
+lassitudinous and headachy, she put extra vim into her share of the
+work; for she wished to coax from mother a new sash, at least.
+
+But when Saturday came she didn't mention the sash; her headache had
+increased to such a persistent throbbing she didn't feel like going
+down to look over the Bonner Mercantile Co.'s stock of ribbons. She
+was having trouble enough concealing her physical distress. At
+dinner mother had noticed that she ate almost nothing; and at supper
+she said:
+
+"Don't you feel well, Missy?"
+
+"Oh, yes, I feel all right--fine!" replied Missy, trying to assume a
+sprightly air.
+
+"You look flushed to me. And sort of heavy around the eyes--don't
+you think so, papa?"
+
+"She does look sort of peaked," affirmed Mr. Merriam.
+
+"She's been dragging around all day," went on the mother. Missy
+tried harder than ever to "perk up"--if they found out about the
+headache, like as not they'd put a taboo on the party--grown-ups
+were so unreasonable. Parties were good for headaches.
+
+"I heard over at Mrs. Allen's this afternoon," Aunt Nettie put in,
+"that there's measles in town. All the Smith children are down with
+it." Missy recalled the oldest little Smith girl, with the fever, at
+the picnic, but said nothing.
+
+"I wonder if Missy could have run into it anywhere," said mother
+anxiously.
+
+"Me?" ejaculated the Society Editor, disdainfully.
+
+"Children have measles!"
+
+"Children! Listen to her!" jeered Aunt Nettie with delight.
+
+"I've had the measles," Missy went on. "And anyway I feel fine!" So
+saying, she set to to make herself eat the last mouthful of the
+blackberry cobbler she didn't want.
+
+It was hard to concentrate on her toilette with the fastidious care
+she would have liked. Her arms were so heavy she could scarcely lift
+them to her head, and her head itself seemed to have jagged weights
+rolling inside at her slightest movement. She didn't feel up to
+experimenting with the new coiffure d'la Lady Sylvia Southwoode;
+even the exertion of putting up her hair the usual way made her
+uncomfortably conscious of the blackberry cobbler. She wasn't yet
+dressed when Mr. Briggs called for her. Mother came in to help.
+
+"Sure you feel all right?" she enquired solicitously.
+
+"Oh, yes--fine!" said Missy.
+
+She was glad, on the rather long walk to the Bonners', that Mr.
+Briggs was so easy to talk to--which meant that Mr. Briggs did most
+of the talking. Even at that it was hard to concentrate on his
+conversation sufficiently to make the right answers in the
+occasional lulls.
+
+And things grew harder, much harder, during the first dance. The
+guests danced through the big double parlours and out the side door
+on to the big, deep porch. It was inspiringly beautiful out there on
+the porch: the sweet odour of honeysuckle and wistaria and "mock
+orange" all commingled; and the lights shining yellow out of the
+windows, and the paler, glistening light of the moon spreading its
+fairy whiteness everywhere. It was inspiringly beautiful; and the
+music was divine--Charley Kelley's orchestra was playing; and Mr.
+Briggs was a wonderful dancer. But Missy couldn't forget the
+oppressive heat, or the stabbing weights in her head, or, worse yet,
+that blackberry cobbler.
+
+As Mr. Briggs was clapping for a second encore, she said
+tremulously:
+
+"Will you excuse me a minute?--I must run upstairs--I forgot my
+handkerchief."
+
+"Let me get it for you," offered Mr. Briggs gallantly.
+
+"No! oh, no!" Her tone was excited and, almost frantically, she
+turned and ran into the house and up the stairs.
+
+Up there, in the bedroom which was temporarily the "ladies' cloak-
+room, prostrate on the bed, Mrs. Bonner found her later. Missy
+protested she was now feeling better, though she thought she'd just
+lie quiet awhile. She insisted that Mrs. Bonner make no fuss and go
+back down to her guests. Mrs. Bonner, after bringing a damp towel
+and some smelling-salts, left her. But presently Missy heard the
+sound of tip-toeing steps, and lifted a corner of the towel from off
+her eyes. There stood Mr. Briggs.
+
+"Say, this is too bad!" he commiserated. "How's the head?"
+
+"It's better," smiled Missy wanly. It wasn't better, in fact, but a
+headache isn't without its advantages when it makes a young man
+forsake dancing to be solicitous.
+
+"Sure it's better?"
+
+"Sure," replied Missy, her smile growing a shade more wan.
+
+"Because if it isn't--" Mr. Briggs began to rub his palms together
+briskly--"I've got electricity in my hands, you know. Maybe I could
+rub it away."
+
+"Oh," said Missy.
+
+Her breathing quickened. The thought of his rubbing her headache
+away, his hands against her brow, was alarming yet exhilarating. She
+glanced up as she felt him removing the towel from her head, then
+quickly down again. She felt, even though her face was already fiery
+hot, that she was blushing. She was embarrassed, her head was
+racking, but on the whole she didn't dislike the situation. Mr.
+Briggs unlinked his cuffs, turned back his sleeves, laid his palms
+on her burning brow, and began a slow, pressing movement outward, in
+both directions, toward her temples.
+
+"That feel good?" he asked. "Yes," murmured Missy. She could
+scarcely voice the word; for, in fact, the pressure of his hands
+seemed to send those horrible weights joggling worse than ever,
+seemed to intensify the uneasiness in her throat--though she
+wouldn't for worlds let Mr. Briggs think her unappreciative of his
+kindness.
+
+The too-kind hands stroked maddeningly on.
+
+"Feel better now?"
+
+"Yes," she gasped.
+
+Things, suddenly, seemed going black. If he'd only stop a minute!
+Wouldn't he ever stop? How could she make him stop? What could she
+do?
+
+The whole world, just then, seemed to be composed of the increasing
+tumult in her throat, the piercing conflict in her head, and those
+maddening strokes--strokes--strokes--strokes. How long could she
+stand it?
+
+Presently, after eons it seemed, she desperately evoked a small,
+jerky voice.
+
+"I think--it must--be getting worse. Thanks, but--Oh, won't you--
+please--go away?"
+
+She didn't open her eyes to see whether Mr. Briggs looked hurt,
+didn't open them to see him leave the room. She was past caring,
+now, whether he was hurt or not. She thought she must be dying. And
+she thought she must be dying, later, while Mrs. Bonner, aided by a
+fluttering, murmuring Louise, attended her with sympathetic
+ministrations; and again while she was being taken home by Mr.
+Bonner in the Bonner surrey--she had never dreamed a surrey could
+bump and lurch and jostle so. But people seldom die of measles; and
+that was what young Doc Alison, next morning, diagnosed her malady.
+It seemed that there is more than one kind of measles and that one
+can go on having one variety after another, ad nauseam, so to speak.
+
+"The case is well developed--you should have called me yesterday,"
+said young Doc rebukingly.
+
+"I knew you were sick yesterday!" chided mother. "And to think I let
+you go to that party!"
+
+"Party?" queried young Doc. "What party?--when?"
+
+Then he heard about the function at the Bonners', and Missy's
+debute.
+
+"Well," he commented, "I'll bet there'll be a fine little aftermath
+of measles among the young folks of this town."
+
+The doctor's prophecy was to fulfill itself. On her sick-bed Missy
+heard the reports of this one and that one who, in turn, were "taken
+down."
+
+For the others she was sorry, but when she learned Mr. Archibald
+Briggs had succumbed, she experienced poignant emotions. Her
+emotions were mingled: regret that she had so poorly repaid a deed
+of gallant service but, withal, a regret tempered by the thought
+they were now suffering together--he ill over there in Raymond
+Bonner's room, she over here in hers--enduring the same kind of
+pain, taking the same kind of medicine, eating the same
+uninteresting food. Yes, it was a bond. It even, at the time, seemed
+a romantic kind of bond.
+
+Then, when days of convalescence arrived, she wrote a condoling note
+to the two patients at the Bonnets'--for Louise had duly "taken
+down," also; and then, as her convalescence had a few days' priority
+over theirs, she was able to go over and visit them in person.
+
+Friendships grow rapidly when people have just gone through the same
+sickness; people have so much in common to talk about, get to know
+one another so much more intimately--the real essence of one
+another. For instance Missy within a few days learned that Louise
+Briggs was an uncommonly nice, sweet, "cultured" girl. She enlarged
+on this point when she asked her mother to let her accept Louise's
+invitation to visit in Keokuk.
+
+"She's the most refined girl I've ever met, mother--if you know what
+I mean."
+
+"Yes--?" said mother, as if inviting more.
+
+"She's going to a boarding-school in Washington, D. C., this
+winter."
+
+"Yes--?" said mother again.
+
+"And she's travelled a lot, but not a bit uppish. I think that kind
+of girl is a good influence to have, don't you?"
+
+Mother, concentrated on an intricate place in her drawn-Yv'ork,
+didn't at once answer. Missy gazed at her eagerly. At last mother
+looked up.
+
+"But what about your work on the Beacon?" she asked.
+
+"Oh, I've thought about that," Missy returned glibly. "And I really
+think a trip of this kind would do me more good than just hanging
+round a poky newspaper office. Travel, and a different sphere--
+Keokuk's a big town, and there seems to be a lot going on there.
+It's really a good chance to enlarge my field of vision--to broaden
+my horizon--don't you see, mother?"
+
+Mother bent her head lower over her work.
+
+"Are you sure the thought of parties and a lot going on and--"
+mother paused a second--"and Archie has nothing to do with it,
+dear?"
+
+Missy didn't mind the teasing hint about Archie when mother said
+"dear" in that tone. It meant that mother was weakening.
+
+Nor did thoughts of the abandoned Cosmos trouble her very much
+during the blissfully tumultuous days of refurbishing her wardrobe
+and packing her trunk. Nor when she wrote a last society item for Ed
+Martin to put in the Beacon:
+
+"Miss Melissa Merriam of Locust Avenue has gone for a two weeks'
+visit at the home of Miss Louise Briggs in Keokuk, Iowa."'
+
+The little item held much in its few words. It was a swan-song.
+
+As Ed Martin inelegantly put it, in speaking later with her father,
+Missy had "canned the Cosmos."
+
+
+
+
+
+End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Missy, by Dana Gatlin
+
diff --git a/old/missy10.zip b/old/missy10.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bf2112d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/missy10.zip