"Oh, they don't mean any harm," he replied. "Just a little innocent
frolic."
There was a ghost of a twinkle in his eyes. Missy didn't know
whether to be grateful for his tolerance or only more chagrined
because he was laughing at her. She stood, feeling red as a beet,
while Grandma Shears retorted:
"Innocent frolic--nonsense! I'll speak to my daughter!" Then, to
Missy: "Now take that pony back to the lot, please, and let's see no
more such disgraceful exhibitions!"
Missy felt as though she'd been whipped. She felt cold all over and
shivered, as she led Gypsy back, though she knew she was blushing
furiously. Concealed behind the barn door, peeping through a crack,
was Tess.
"It was awful!" moaned Missy. "I can never face Rev. MacGill again!"
"Oh, he's a good sport," said Tess.
"She gave me an awful calling down."
"Oh, grandma's an old fogy." Missy had heard Tess thus pigeonhole
her grandmother often before, but now, for the first time, she
didn't feel a little secret repugnance for the rude classification.
Grandma Shears WAS old-fogyish. But it wasn't her old-fogyishness,
per se, that irritated; it was the fact that her old-fogyishness had
made her "call down" Missy--in front of the minister.
Pages:
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290