bit like Lady Sylvia!--when she heard her mother's voice calling:

"Missy! haven't you gone to bed yet?"

"No, mother," she answered meekly, laying down the brush very quietly.

"What on earth are you doing?"

"Nothing--I'm going to bed right now," she answered, more meekly yet.
"You'd better," came the unseen voice. "You've got to get up early if
you're going to the picnic."

The picnic--oh, bother! Missy had forgotten the picnic. If it had been
a picnic of her own "crowd" she would not have forgotten it, but she was
attending this function because of duty instead of pleasure.

And it isn't especially interesting to tag along with a lot of children
and their Sunday-school teachers.

She wondered if, maybe, she could manage to get her "report" without
actually going.

But she'd already forgotten the picnic by the time she crept into her
little bed, across which the moon, through the window, spread a shining
breadth of silver. She looked at the strip of moonlight drowsily--how
beautiful moonlight was! And when it gleamed down on dewy grass...
everything outdoors white and magical... and dancing on the porch... he
must be a wonderful dancer--those college boys always were... music...
the scent of flowers.. . "the prettiest girl I've seen in this town"...

Yes; the bothersome picnic was forgotten; and the Beacon, alluring
stepping-stone to achievements untold; yes, even Ridgeley Holman Dobson
himself.

The moon, moving its gleaming way slowly up the coverlet, touched
tenderly the face of the sleeper, kissed the lips curved into a soft,
dreaming smile. Missy went to the picnic next day, for her mother was
unsympathetic toward the suggestion of contriving a "report." "Now,
Missy, don't begin that again! You're always starting out to ride some
enthusiasm hard, and then letting it die down. You must learn to see
things through. Now, go and get your lunch ready."

Missy meekly obeyed. It wasn't the first time she'd been rebuked for
her unstable temperament. She was meek and abashed; yet it is not
uninteresting to know one possesses an unstable temperament which must
be looked after lest it prove dangerous. The picnic was as dull as she
had feared it would be. She usually liked children but, that day, the
children at first were too riotously happy and then, as they tired
themselves out, got cross and peevish. Especially the Smith children.
One of the teachers said the oldest little Smith girl seemed to have
fever;