Then Poppy, her exercises done, majestically trod the coverlet to salute her mistress with the accustomed matinal salutation which Missy called a kiss. Mother did not approve of Poppy's “kisses,” but Missy argued to herself that the morning one, dependable as an alarm clock, kept her from oversleeping.
She hugged Poppy, jumped out of bed, and began dressing. When she got downstairs breakfast was ready and the house all sweetly diffused with the dreamy shadows that come with a rainy day.
Father had heard the great news and bantered her: “So we've got a society queen in our midst!”
“I think,” put in Aunt Nettie, “that it's disgraceful the way they put children forward these days.”
“I wouldn't let Missy go if Mrs. Allen wasn't going to be there to look after her,” said mother.
“Mother, may I have the hem of my pink dress let down?” asked Missy.
At that father laughed, and Aunt Nettie might just as well have said: “I told you so!” as put on that expression.
“It's my first real party,” Missy went on, “and I'd like to look as pretty as I can.”
Something prompted father, as he rose from the table, to pause and lay his hand on Missy's shoulder.
“Can't you get her a new ribbon or something, mother?” he asked.
“Maybe a new sash,” answered mother reflectively. “They've got some pretty brocaded pink ribbon at Bonner's.”
After which Missy finished her breakfast in a rapture. It is queer how you can eat, and like what you eat very much, and yet scarcely taste it at all.
When the two hours of practicing were over, mother sent her down town to buy the ribbon for the sash--a pleasant errand. She changed the black tie on her middy blouse to a scarlet one and let the ends fly out of her grey waterproof cape. Why is it that red is such a divine colour on a rainy day?
Upon her return there was still an hour before dinner, and she sat by the dining-room window with Aunt Nettie, to darn stockings.
“Well, Missy,” said Aunt Nettie presently, “a penny for your thoughts.”
Missy looked up vaguely, at a loss. “I wasn't thinking of anything exactly,” she said.
Just then mother entered and Aunt Nettie said: “Missy smiles, and doesn't know it. Party!”
But Missy knew it wasn't the party entirely. Nor was it entirely the sound of the rain swishing, nor the look of the trees quietly weeping, nor of the vivid red patches of geranium beds. Everything could have been quite different, and still she'd have felt happy. Her feeling, mysteriously, was as much from things INSIDE her as from things outside.