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 Au