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 bas