for all
that, beyond a certain concern for material details. "Mother, may I do
my hair up in kid-curlers?" she asked.

"Why, this is only Wednesday." Mother's tone connoted the fact that
"waves," rippling artificially either side of Missy's "part" down to
her two braids, achieved a decorative effect reserved for Sundays and
special events. Then quickly, perhaps because she hadn't been altogether
unaware of this last visitation of the Heavenly Muse, she added: "Well,
I don't care. Do it up, if you want to."

Then, moved by some motive of her own, she followed Missy upstairs to
do it up herself. These occasions of personal service were rare, these
days, since Missy had grown big and efficient, and were therefore deeply
cherished. But to-night Missy almost regretted her mother's unexpected
ministration; for the paper in her blouse crackled at unwary gestures,
and if mother should protract her stay throughout the undressing period,
there might come an awkward call for explanations.

And mother, innocently, added one more element to her entangled burden
of distress.

"We'll do it up all over your head, for the Wedding," she said, gently
brushing the full length of the fine, silvery-brown strands. "And let it
hang in loose curls."

At the conjectured vision, Missy's eyes began to sparkle.

"And I think a ribbon band the colour of your dress would be pretty,"
mother went on, parting off a section and wrapping it round a "curler."
A sudden remembrance clutched at Missy's ecstatic reply; the shine faded
from her eyes. But mother, engrossed, didn't observe; more deeply she
sank her unintentional barb. "No," she mused aloud, "a garland of little
rosebuds would be better, I believe-tiny delicate little buds, tied with
a pink bow."

At that, the prospective flower-girl, to have saved her life, could
not have repressed the sigh which rose like a tidal wave from her
overcharged heart. Mother caught the sigh, and looked at her anxiously.
"Don't you think it would look pretty?" she asked.

Missy nodded mutely. So complex were her emotions that, fearing for
self-control, she was glad, just then, that the Baby cried.

As soon as mother had kissed her good night and left her, she pulled
out the paper rustling importantly within her blouse, and laid it in
the celluloid "treasure box" which sat on the high-boy. Then soberly she
finished the operation on her hair, and undressed herself.

Before getting into bed, after her regular