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Updated: July 6, 2025
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.
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.
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?
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.
She poured out upon the luckless young man all the baby biography of her family, from Missy's christening down to the infant Selina's cutting of her first tooth. To all of which he listened with a praiseworthy attention, giving at least silence, which was doubtless all the answer Emma required.
"Come to think of it, she hasn't eh?" asked John. "No, that's true enough," admitted Mr. Lyddon. "I speak, though of low position, but well thought of an' at Miller's right hand, so to say," continued Mr. Blee; "so theer 't is: Missy's in a dangerous pass. Eve's flesh be Eve's flesh, whether hid under flannel or silk, or shawed mother-naked to the sun after the manner of furrin cannibals.
In one corner was a little white bed. Missy's pictures hung on the walls; Missy's books and work-basket were lying on the square stand; there was a bit of half-finished fancy work, yellow from age, lying in the basket. On a small bureau before the gilt-framed mirror were several little girlish knick-knacks and boxes whose contents had never been disturbed since Missy went away.
Bellamy, at no more cost than a scratch on the forearm and a bullet-hole in the left-hand claret-coloured panel. And accordingly, but now at a more decent pace, we proceeded on our way to Archdeacon Clitheroe's. Missy's gratitude and admiration were aroused to a high pitch by this dramatic scene, and what she was pleased to call my wound.
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.
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.
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