"Missy, Aunt Nettie's lying down with a headache. I'm afraid the
piano disturbs her."

"All right, mother."

Lingeringly Missy closed the hymnal. She couldn't forbear a little
sigh. Perhaps mother noted the sigh. Anyway, she came close and
said:

"I'm sorry, dear. I think it's nice the way you've learned to play
hymns."

Missy glanced up; and for a moment forgetting that grown-ups don't
always understand, she breathed:

"Oh, mother, it's HEAVENLY! You can't imagine--"

She remembered just in time, and stopped short. But mother didn't
embarrass her by asking her to explain something that couldn't be
explained in words. She only laid her hand, for a second, on the
sleek brown head. The marvellous feeling endured through the
afternoon, and through supper, and through the evening--clear up to
the time Missy undressed and said her prayers. Some special
sweetness seemed to have crept into saying prayers; our Lord Jesus
seemed very personal and very close as she whispered to Him a
postlude:

"I will fear no evil, for Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,