sidewalk slowed down, too, or was it only imagination? She scrambled
to her feet and hurried on--and HE seemed to be hurrying again. She
had no time, now, to be afraid of the vague terrors of night; her
panic was perfectly and terribly tangible. She MUST get home ahead
of father.

Blindly she stumbled on.

At the kitchen door she paused a moment to regain her breath; then,
very quietly, she entered. There was a light in the kitchen and she
could hear mother doing something in the pantry. She sniffed at the
air and called cheerily:

"Been popping corn?"

"Yes," came mother's voice, rather stiffly. "Seems to me you've been
a long time finding out about those lessons!"

Not offering to debate that question, nor waiting to appease her
sudden craving for pop-corn, Missy moved toward the door.

"Get your wet shoes off at once!" called mother.

"That's just what I was going to do." And she hurried up the back
stairs, unbuttoning buttons as she went.

Presently, in her night-dress and able to breathe naturally again,
she felt safer. But she decided she'd better crawl into bed. She lay
there, listening. It must have been a half-hour later when she heard
a cab stop in front of the house, and then the slam of the front