But she knew it was an empty dream. Even if she had the swagger
togs--a notion mad to absurdity--she could never gallop with
insouciance. She wasn't the athletic sort.

At supper she was still somewhat bitterly ruminating her failings.

"Missy, you're not eating your omelet," adjured her mother.

Missy's eyes came back from space.

"I was just wondering--" then she broke off.

"Yes, dear," encouraged mother. Missy's hazy thoughts took a sudden
plunge, direct and startling.

"I was wondering if, maybe, you'd give me an old pair of father's
trousers."

"What on earth for, child?"

"Just an old pair," Missy went on, ignoring the question. "Maybe
that pepper-and-salt pair you said you'd have to give to Jeff."

"But what do you want of them?" persisted mother. "Jeff needs them
disgracefully--the last time he mowed the yard I blushed every time
he turned his back toward the street."

"I think Mrs. Allen's going to give him a pair of Mr. Allen's--Kitty
said she was. So he won't need the pepper-and-salts."