me. She wondered, with a little sigh,
whether his "crowd" called him by his first name; though a King he was
just a boy--about her own age.

Nevertheless, though Arthur Simpson was neither handsome nor revealed
aught which might stir vague, deep currents of romance, Missy regretted
that even Arthur had seen her in such a sorry plight. She wished he
might see her at a better advantage. For instance, galloping up on
a spirited mount, in a modish riding-habit--a checked one with
flaring-skirted coat and shining boots and daring but swagger breeches,
perhaps!--galloping insouciantly up to take that dare!

But she knew it was an empty dream. Even if she had the swagger togs--a
notion mad to absurdity--she could never gallop with insouciance. She
wasn't the athletic sort.

At supper she was still somewhat bitterly ruminating her failings.

"Missy, you're not eating your omelet," adjured her mother.

Missy's eyes came back from space.

"I was just wondering--" then she broke off.

"Yes, dear," encouraged mother. Missy's hazy thoughts took a sudden
plunge, direct and startling.

"I was wondering if, maybe, you'd give me an old pair of father's
trousers."

"What on earth for, child?"

"Just an old pair," Missy went on, ignoring the question. "Maybe that
pepper-and-salt pair you said you'd have to give to Jeff."

"But what do you want of them?" persisted mother. "Jeff needs them
disgracefully--the last time he mowed the yard I blushed every time he
turned his back toward the street."

"I think Mrs. Allen's going to give him a pair of Mr. Allen's--Kitty
said she was. So he won't need the pepper-and-salts."

"But what do you want with a pair of PANTS?" Aunt Nettie put in. Missy
wished Aunt Nettie had been invited out to supper; Aunt Nettie was
relentlessly inquisitive. She knew she must give some kind of answer.

"Oh, just for some fancy-work," she said. She tried to make her tone
insouciant, but she was conscious of her cheeks getting hot.

"Fancy-work--pants for fancy-work! For heaven's sake!" ejaculated Aunt
Nettie.

Mother, also, was staring at her in surprise. But father, who was a
darling, put in: "Give 'em to her if she wants 'em, dear. Maybe she'll
make a lambrequin for the piano or an embroidered smoking-jacket for the
old man--a'la your Ladies' Home Companion."

He grinned at her, but Missy didn't mind father's jokes at her expense
so much as most grown-ups'. Besides she was grateful to him for
diver