It all began, as nearly as one could fix on a concrete beginning, with Genevieve Hicks's receiving a set of white fox furs for Christmas. The furs were soft and silky and luxurious, and Genevieve might well have been excused for wearing them rather triumphantly. Missy wasn't at all envious by nature and she tried to be fair-minded in this case, but she couldn't help begrudging Genevieve her regal air.
Genevieve had paraded her becoming new finery past the Merriam residence on several Sunday afternoons, but this wasn't the entire crux of Missy's discontent. Genevieve and the white fox furs were escorted by Arthur Summers.
Now, Arthur had more than once asked Missy herself to “go walking” on Sunday afternoons. But Mrs. Merriam had said Missy was too young for such things. And when Missy, in rebuttal, once pointed out the promenading Genevieve, Mrs. Merriam had only replied that Genevieve's mother ought to know better--that Genevieve was a frivolous-minded girl, anyway.
Missy, peering through the parlour lace curtains, made no answer; but she thought: “Bother! Everybody can go walking but me!”
“She's laughing awful loud. She is frivolous-minded.”
“He looks as if he's having a good time, too; he's laughing back straight at her. I wonder if he thinks she's very pretty.”
That evening at the supper-table Missy voiced her desire. There were just the four of them at the table--father, mother, Aunt Nettie and herself. Missy sat silent, listening to the talk of the grownups; but their voices floated to her as detached, far-off sounds, because she was engrossed in looking at a mental picture; a red-haired, laughing, admiring-eyed boy walking along beside a girl in white fox furs--and the girl was not Genevieve Hicks. The delights of the vision must have reflected in her face because finally her father said:
“Well, Missy, what's all the smiling about?”
Missy blushed as if she'd been caught in mischief; but she answered, wistfully rather than hopefully:
“I was just thinking how nice it would be if I had some white fox furs.”
“For heaven's sake!” commented mother. “When you've already got a new set not two months old!”
Missy didn't reply to that; she didn't want to seem unappreciative. It was true she had a new set, warm and serviceable, but--well, a short-haired, dark-brown collarette hasn't the allure of a fluffy, snow-white boa.