. . There is a certain haughtiness about her
that contrasts curiously but pleasantly with her youthful expression
and laughing, kissable mouth. She is straight and lissome as a young
ash tree; her hands and feet are small and well-shaped; in a word,
she is chic from the crown of her fair head down to her little
arched instep . . .
Missy sighed; how wonderful it must be to be a creature so endowed
by the gods!
Missy--Melissa--now, at the advanced age of fifteen, had supposed
she knew all the wonders of books. She had learned to read the Book
of Life: its enchantments, so many and so varied in Cherryvale, had
kept her big grey eyes wide with smiles or wonder or, just
occasionally, darkened with the mystery of sorrow. There was the
reiterant magic of greening spring; and the long, leisurely days of
delicious summer; the companionship of a quaint and infinitely
interesting baby brother, and of her own cat--majesty incarnate on
four black legs; and then, just lately, this exciting new "best
friend," Tess O'Neill. Tess had recently moved to Cherryvale, and
was "different"--different even from Kitty Allen, though Missy had
suffered twinges about letting anyone displace Kitty.
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