Manchurian Books

"Oh! was I whispering?"
"Yes."
"I guess it was just a piece I'm learning."
"What piece?"
"I--I--it's going to be a surprise."
"Oh, another surprise? Well, that'll be nice," said grandma.
Missy longed acutely to be alone. It was upsetting to have to carry
on a conversation. That often throws you off of what's absorbing
your thoughts.
So she was glad when, after dinner, grandma said:
"I think you'd better take a little nap, dear. You don't seem quite
like yourself--perhaps you'd best not attempt the meeting to-night."
That last was a bomb-shell; but Missy decided not to worry about
such a possible catastrophe till the time should come. She found a
chance to slip out to the tool-house and rescue the Holy Bible and
the sheet of paper, the latter now so scratched out and interlined
as to be unintelligible to anyone save an author.
When at last she was alone in her room, she jumped out of bed--
religion, it seems, sometimes makes deception a necessity.
For a time she worked on the paper, bending close over it, cheeks
flushed, eyes shining, whispering as she scratched.


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