Her mind was filled with scarcely defined surmises concerning Aunt
Isabel, her unexpected headache, and the too handsome harper. But
Uncle Charlie, unsuspecting, talked on in that cheerful strain. He
was teasing Missy because she liked the ham and eggs and muffins,
and took a second helping of everything.

"Good thing I can get groceries at wholesale!" he bantered. "Else
I'd never dare ask you to visit me!"

Missy returned his smile, grateful that the matter of her appetite
might serve to keep him jolly a little while longer. Perhaps he
didn't even suspect, yet. DID he suspect? She couldn't forbear a
tentative question:

"What seems to be the matter with Aunt Isabel, Uncle Charlie?"

"Why, didn't I tell you she has a headache?'

"Oh! a headache." She was silent a second; then, as if there was
something strange about this malady, she went on: "Did she SAY she
had a headache?"

"Of course, my dear. It's a pretty bad one. I guess it must be the
weather." It was hot. Uncle Charlie had taken off his coat and was
in his shirt sleeves--she was pleased to note it was a silken shirt;
little beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead, and on his
head where it was just beginning to get bald. Somehow, the fact that
he looked so hot had the effect of making her feel even more tender
toward him. So, though she thirsted for information, not for the