Aunt Nettie, smiling, once started to
make a comment but, unseen by his dreaming daughter, was silenced by
Mr. Merriam. And immediately after the meal she'd eaten without
seeing, the faithful tablet again in hand, Missy wandered back to
the summer-house.
It was simply heavenly out there now. The whole western sky clear to
the zenith was laid over with a solid colour of opaque saffron rose;
and, almost halfway up and a little to the left, in exactly the
right place, of deepest turquoise blue, rested one mountain of
cloud; it was the shape of Fujiyama, the sacred mount of Japan,
which was pictured in Aunt Isabel's book of Japanese prints. Missy
wished she might see Japan--Mr. Dobson had probably been there--
lecturers usually were great travellers. He'd probably been
everywhere--led a thrilling sort of life--the sort of life that
makes one interesting. Oh, if only she could talk to him--just once.
She sighed. Why didn't interesting people like that ever come to
Cherryvale to live? Everybody in Cherryvale was so--so commonplace.
Like Bill Cummings, the red-haired bank teller, who thought a trip
to St.
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