English always wore scarlet for hunting,
anyway. Missy then had warmly applauded the inspiration, but now her
warmth was literal rather than figurative; it was a hot day and the
sweater was knitted of heavy wool. She fingered her stock collar--one
of Mrs. O'Neill's guest towels--and tried to adjust her derby more
securely.

"Your father has an awfully big head," she commented. "Oh, they always
wear their hats way down over their ears." Then, a little vexed at this
necessity for repeated reassurance, Tess broke out irritably:

"If you don't want to wear the get-up, say so! I'LL wear it! I only let
you wear it first trying to be nice to you!"

Then Missy, who had been genuinely moved by Tess's decision that the
first wearing of the costume should make up for her chum's week of
punishment, pulled herself together.

"Of course I want to wear it," she declared. "I think it's just fine of
you to let me wear it first."

She spoke sincerely; yet, within the hour, she was plotting to return
her friend's sacrifice with a sort of mean trick. Perhaps it was fit
and just that the trick turned topsy-turvy on herself as it did. Yet the
notion did not come to her in the guise of a trick on Tess. No; it came
just as a daring, dashing, splendid feat in which she herself should
triumphantly figure--she scarcely thought of Tess at all.

It came upon her, in all its dazzling possibilities, while she was
cantering along the old road which runs back of Smith's woods. She and
Tess had agreed it would be best, till they'd "broke in" Cherryvale to
the novelty of breeches, to keep to unfrequented roads. But it was the
inconspicuousness of the route, the lack of an admiring audience,
which gave birth to Missy's startling Idea. Back in the barn she'd felt
self-conscious. But now she was getting used to her exposed legs. And
doing really splendidly on Dr. O'Neill's saddle. Sitting there astride,
swaying in gentle rhythm with Gypsy's springing motion she began to feel
truly dashing, supremely swagger. She seemed lifted out of herself, no
longer timid, commonplace, unathletic Missy Merriam, but exalted into a
sort of free-and-easy, Princess Royal of Swaggerdom. She began to wish
someone might see her...

Then startling, compelling, tantalizing, came the Idea. Why not ride
openly back into Cherryvale, right up Main Street, right by the Post
Office? All those old loafers would see her who'd laughed the day she
tumbled off of Ned. Well, they'd la