tremendous situation! Love that never would depart for weal neither
for woe!

Missy sighed. For she had read and re-read what was the fullness of
their woe. And she couldn't help hating King Mark, even if he was
Isoud's lawful lord, because he proved himself such a recreant and
false traitor to true love. Of course, he WAS Isoud's husband; and
Missy lived in Cherryvale, where conventions were not complicated
and were strictly adhered to; else scandal was the result. But she
told herself that this situation was different because it was an
unusual kind of love. They couldn't help themselves. It wasn't their
fault. It was the love-drink that did it. Besides, it happened in
the Middle Ages . . .

Suddenly her reverie was blasted by a compelling disaster. The baby,
left to his own devices, had stuck a twig into his eye, and was
uttering loud cries for attention. Missy remorsefully hurried over
and kissed his hurt. As if healed thereby, the baby abruptly ceased
crying; even sent her a little wavering smile. Missy gazed at him
and pondered: why do babies cry over their tiny troubles, and so
often laugh over their bigger ones? She felt an immense yearning
over babies--over all things inexplicable.

That evening after supper, grandpa and grandma came over for a
little while. They all sat out on the porch and chatted. It was very
beautiful out on the porch,--greying twilight, and young little
stars just coming into being, all aquiver as if frightened.

The talk turned to Missy's imminent visit.