And you have to be in the mood before you can create, don't
you? Missy felt this necessity vaguely but strongly; but she
couldn't get it across to mother.
And even worse than mother's reproaches was when father finally gave
her a "talking to"; father was a big, wise, but usually silent man,
so that when he did speak his words seemed to carry a double force.
Missy's young friends were apt to show a little awe of father, but
she knew he was enormously kind and sympathetic. Long ago--oh, years
before--when she was a little girl, she used to find it easier to
talk to him than to most grown-ups; about all kinds of unusual
things--the strange, mysterious, fascinating thoughts that come to
one. But lately, for some reason, she had felt more shy with father.
There was much she feared he mightn't understand--or, perhaps, she
feared he might understand.
So, in this rather unsympathetic domestic environment, the class
Valedictorian, with the kindling of her soul all laid, so to speak,
uneasily awaited the divine spark. It was hard to maintain an easy
assumption that all was well; especially after the affair of the
hats got under way.
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