When he came up the steps to the porch where she waited, blushing
and palpitant but withal feeling a sense of importance, he greeted
her jovially. "Well, I hear we've got a full-fledged writer in our
midst!"
Missy's blush deepened.
"What _I_ want to know," father continued, "is who's going to darn
my socks? I'm afraid socks go to the dickens when genius flies in at
the window."
As Missy smiled back at him she resolved, despite everything, to
keep father's socks in better order than ever before.
During supper the talk kept coming back to the theme of her Work,
but in a friendly, unscoffing way so that Missy knew her parents
were really pleased. Mother mentioned Mrs. Brooks's "bridge"
Thursday afternoon--that might make a good write-up. And father said
he'd get her a leather-bound notebook next day. And when, after
supper, instead of joining them on the porch, she brought tablet and
pencil and a pile of books and placed them on the dining-table,
there were no embarrassing comments, and she was left alone with her
thrills and puzzlements.
Among the books were Stevenson's "Some Technical Considerations of
Style," George Eliot's "Romola" and Carlyle's "Sartor Resartus"; the
latter two being of the kind that especially lifted you to a mood of
aching to express things beautifully.
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