see the
disappointment on his daughter's face. But Missy was gazing down her
nose to hide eyes that were shining. Soon she made an excuse to get
away.

Out in the summerhouse it was celestially beautiful and peaceful. And,
magically, all this peace and beauty seemed to penetrate into her and
become a part of herself. The glory of the pinkish-mauve sunset stole in
and delicately tinged her so; the scent of the budding ramblers, and of
the freshly-mowed lawn, became her own fragrant odour; the soft song of
the breeze rocking the leaves became her own soul's lullaby. Oh, it was
a heavenly world, and the future bloomed with enchantments! She could
stay in Cherryvale this summer! Dear Cherryvale! Green prairies were so
much nicer than snow-covered mountains, and gently sloping hills than
sharp-pointing peaks; and much, much nicer than tempestuous waterfalls
was the sweet placidity of Swan Creek. Dear Swan Creek...

The idea of Raymond's trying to make her jealous! How simple-minded
boys are! But what a dear, true friend he was, and how much more is
friendship than mere pleasures like travel--or prominence or fine grades
or anything...

It was at this point in her cogitations that Missy, seeing her
Anthology--an intimate poetic companion--where she'd left it on a bench,
dreamily picked it up, turned a few pages, and then was moved to write.
We have borrowed her product to head this story.

Meanwhile, back in the house, her father might have been heard
commenting on the noble behaviour of his daughter.

"Didn't let out a single whimper--brave little thing! We must see to it
that she has a good time at home--poor young one! I think we'd better
get the car this summer, after all."

CHAPTER IX. DOBSON SAVES THE DAY

It was two years after the Spanish war; and she was seventeen years old
and about to graduate.

On the Senior class roster of the Cherryvale High School she was
catalogued as Melissa Merriam, well down--in scholarship's token--toward
the tail-end of twenty-odd other names. To the teachers the list meant
only the last young folks added to a backreaching line of girls and boys
who for years and years had been coming to "Commencement" with "credits"
few or many, large expectant eyes fixed on the future, and highly
uncertain habits of behaviour; but, to the twenty-odd, such dead
prosiness about themselves would have been inconceivable even in
teachers.

And Missy?

Well, there were prettier girls