Then, another difficulty presented itself to her mind. Mother had
set her foot down on evening visits to the Library--mother seemed to
think girls went there evenings chiefly to meet boys! Mother would
never let her go--especially in such weather and with a sore throat.
Missy pondered long and earnestly.

The result was that, after supper, at which mother had appeared,
pale and heavy-eyed, Missy said tentatively:

"Can I run up to Kitty's a little while to See what the lessons are
for to-morrow?"

"I don't think you'd better, dear," mother replied listlessly. "It
wouldn't be wise, with that throat."

"But my throat's better. And I've GOT to keep up my lessons, mother!
And just a half a block can't hurt me if I bundle up." Missy had
formulated her plan well; Kitty Allen had been chosen as an alibi
because of her proximity.

"Very well, then," agreed mother.

As Missy sped toward the library, conflicting emotions swirled
within her and joined forces with the sharp breathlessness brought
on by her haste. She had never before been out alone at night, and
the blackness of tree-shadows lying across the intense whiteness of
the snow struck her in two places at once--imaginatively in the
brain and fearsomely in the stomach. Nor is a guilty conscience a
reassuring companion under such circumstances. Missy kept telling