c 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