oose at the lower end of the screen,
and, in the one second Marguerite's back was turned--just one second,
but just long enough--Missy saw a velvety nose fumble with the loose
wire, saw a sleek neck wedge itself through the crevice, and a long red
tongue lap approvingly over the sugar-coated crust.

Missy gasped audibly. Mother followed her eyes, turned, saw, jumped
up--but it was too late. Mrs. Merriam viciously struck at Gypsy's muzzle
and pushed the encroaching head back through the aperture.

"Get away from here!" she cried angrily. "You little beast!"

"I think the pony shows remarkably good taste," commented Rev. MacGill,
trying to pass the calamity off as a joke. But his hostess wasn't
capable of an answering smile; she gazed despairingly, tragically, at
the desecrated confection.

"I took such pains with it," she almost wailed. "It was a deep-dish
peach pie--I made it specially for Mr. MacGill."

"Well, I'm not particularly fond of peach pie, anyway," said the
minister, meaning to be soothing.

"Oh, but I know you ARE! Mrs. Allen said that at her house you took two
helpings-that you said it was your favourite dessert."

The minister coughed a little cough--he was caught in a somewhat
delicate situation; then, always tactful, replied: "Perhaps I did say
that--her peach pie was very good. But I'm equally fond of all sweets--I
have a sweet tooth."

At this point Missy gathered her courage to quaver a suggestion.
"Couldn't you just take off the top crust, mother? Gypsy didn't touch
the underneath part. Why can't you just--"

But her mother's scandalized look silenced her. She must have made a
faux pas. Father and Rev. MacGill laughed outright, and Aunt Nettie
smiled a withering smile.

"That's a brilliant idea," she said satirically. "Perhaps you'd have us
pick out the untouched bits of the crust, too!" Missy regarded her
aunt reproachfully but helplessly; she was too genuinely upset for any
repartee. Why did Aunt Nettie like to put her "in wrong"? Her suggestion
seemed to her perfectly reasonable. Why didn't they act on it? But of
course they'd ignore it, just making fun of her now but punishing her
afterward. For she divined very accurately that they would hold
her accountable for Gypsy's blunder--even though the blunder was
rectifiable; it was a BIG pie, and most of it as good as ever. They were
unreasonable, unjust.

Mother seemed unable to tear herself away from the despoiled
masterpiece.

"Come