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