Another pause. Trying to think of something to say, she glanced
again over her shoulder. Then she clutched at Arthur's arm.

"Look at that man back there--following us! He looks something like
father!"

As she spoke she unconsciously quickened her pace; Arthur
consciously quickened his. He knew--as all of the boys of "the
crowd" knew--Mr. Merriam's stand on the matter of beaux.

"Oh!" cried Missy under her breath. She fancied that the tall figure
had now accelerated his gait, also. "It IS father! I'll cut across
this vacant lot and get in at the kitchen door--I can beat him home
that way!"

Arthur started to turn into the vacant lot with her, but she gave
him a little push.

"No! no! It's just a little way--I won't be afraid. You'd better
run, Arthur--he might kill you!"

Arthur didn't want to be killed. "So long, then--let me know how
things come out!"--and he disappeared fleetly down the block.

Missy couldn't make such quick progress; the vacant lot had been a
cornfield, and the stubby ground was frozen into hard, sharp ridges
under the snow. She stumbled, felt her shoes filling with snow,
stumbled on, fell down, felt her stocking tear viciously. She
glanced over her shoulder--had the tall figure back there on the