She started to leave the room.
"Oh, mother!"
"Well?" Rather impatiently Mrs. Merriam turned in the doorway.
"Would you mind handing me my tablet and pencil?"
"What, there in the bath?"
"I just thought"--Missy paused to sneeze--"maybe I might get an
inspiration or something, and couldn't get out to write it down."
"You're an absurd child." But when she brought the tablet and
pencil, Mrs. Merriam lingered to pull the shawl round Missy's
shoulders a little closer; Missy always loved mother to do things
like this it was at such times she felt most keenly that her mother
loved her.
Yet she was glad to be left alone.
For a time her eyes were on her bare, scarlet feet in the yellow
mustard water. But that unbeautiful colour combination did not
disturb her. She did not even see her feet. She was seeing a pair of
bright dark eyes smiling intimately into her own. Presently, with a
dreamy, abstracted smile, she opened the tablet, poised the pencil,
and began to write. But she was scarcely conscious of any of this,
of directing her pencil even; it was almost as if the pencil,
miraculously, guided itself.
Pages:
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391