Missy suddenly felt herself a very foolish-appearing object in her
party finery. She tried to make an answer, but the right words were
difficult to find.
"Party!" said Aunt Nettie significantly.
Missy, still standing in mute embarrassment, couldn't have explained
how it was not the party entirely.
Mother did not scold her for dressing up.
"Better get those things off, dear," she said kindly, "and come in
and let me curl your hair. I'd better do it before supper, before
the baby gets cross." The crimped coiffure was an immense success;
even in her middy blouse Missy felt transformed. She could have
kissed herself in the glass!
"Do you think I look pretty, mother?" she asked. "You mustn't think
of such things, dear." But, as mother stooped to readjust a waving
lock, her fingers felt marvellously tender to Missy's forehead.
Evening arrived with a sunset of grandeur and glory. It made
everything look as beautiful as it should look on the occasion of a
festival. The beautiful and festive aspect of the world without, and
of, her heart within, made it difficult to eat supper.
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