. .
And oh, yes--that old card! How dreary life can be as one grows
older.
Missy waited to show the card till her father came home to supper--
she knew it was terribly hard for father to be stern. But when
Missy, all mute appeal, extended him the report, he looked it over
in silence and then passed it on to mother. Mother, too, examined it
with maddening care.
"Well," she commented at last. "I see you've failed again."
"It was all the fault of those two weeks' grades," the culprit tried
to explain. "If it hadn't been for that--"
"But there was 'that.'" Mother's tone was terribly unsympathetic.
"I didn't think of grades--then."
"No, that's the trouble. I've warned you, Missy. You've got to learn
to think. You'll have to stay home and make up those grades this
summer. You'd better write to Aunt Isabel at once, so she won't be
inconvenienced."
Mother's voice had the quiet ring of doom.
Tender-hearted father looked away, out the window, so as not to see
the disappointment on his daughter's face. But Missy was gazing down
her nose to hide eyes that were shining.
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