And everyone was in
fine spirits; only Missy, at the first, had a few bad moments. WOULD
he mention it? He might think it his duty, think that mother should
know. It was maybe his duty to tell. Preachers have a sterner creed
of duty than other people, of course. She regarded him anxiously
from under the veil of her lashes, wondering what would happen if he
did tell. Mother would be horribly ashamed, and she herself would be
all the more ashamed because mother was. Aunt Nettie would be
satirically disapproving and say cutting things. Father would
probably just laugh, but later he'd be serious and severe. And not
one of them would ever, ever understand.
As the minutes went by, her strain of suspense gradually lessened.
Rev. MacGill was chatting away easily--about the delicious chicken-
stuffing and quince jelly, and the election, and the repairs on the
church steeple, and things like that. Now and then he caught Missy's
eye, but his expression for her was exactly the same as for the
others--no one could suspect there was any secret between them. He
WAS a good sport!
Once a shadow passed outside the window.
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