l telephone until there was a clear field, then
called Young Doc's number. What a relief to find he had not yet
gone out! Could he stop by her house, pretty soon? Why, what was the
matter--Doc's voice was alarmed--someone sick?

"No, but it's something very important, Doc."

Missy's manner was hurried and impressive.

"Won't it wait?"

"It's terribly important."

"What is it? Can't you tell me now, Missy?"

"No--it's a secret. And I've got to hurry up now and hang up the phone
because it's a secret."

"I see. All right, I'll be along in about fifteen minutes. What do you
want me to--"

"Stop by the summerhouse," she cut in nervously. "I'll be there."

It seemed a long time, but in reality was shorter than schedule, before
Young Doc's car appeared up the side street. He brought it to a stop
opposite the summerhouse, jumped out and approached the rendezvous.

Summoning all her courage, she held the Poem ready in her hand.

"Good morning, Missy," he sang out. "What's all the mystery?"

For answer Missy could only smile--a smile made wan by nervousness--and
extend the two crumpled sheets of paper.

Young Doc took them curiously, smiled at the primly-lettered, downhill
lines, and then narrowed his eyes to skimming absorption. A strange
expression gathered upon his face as he read. Missy didn't know exactly
what to make of his working muscles--whether he was pained or angry or
amused. But she was entirely unprepared for the fervour with which, when
he finished, he seized her by the shoulders and bounced her up and down.

"Did you make all this up?" he cried. "Or do you mean she really doesn't
want to marry that bounder?"

"She really doesn't," answered Missy, not too engaged in steeling
herself against his crunching of her shoulder bones to register the
soubriquet, "bounder."

"Are you sure you didn't make most of it up?" Young Doc knew well
Missy's strain of romanticism. But she strove to convince him that, for
once, she was by way of being a realist.

"She despises him. She can't bear to go on with it. She can't stand
it another hour. I heard her say so myself." Young Doc, crunching her
shoulder bones worse than ever, breathed hard, but said nothing. Missy
proffered bashfully:

"I think, maybe, she wants to marry you, Doc."

Young Doc then, just at the moment she couldn't have borne the vise a
second longer, let go her shoulders, and smiled a smile which, for her,
would have eased a splintered bone i