astride. It was wonderful. She could imagine herself a Centaur
princess. And, curiously, she felt not at all embarrassed. Yet she
was glad that, back there in the lot, she was screened by the big
barn from probably critical eyes.

But Gypsy made an unexpected dart into the barn-door, through the
barn, and out into the yard, before Missy realized the capricious
creature's intent. And, as luck would have it, the Reverend MacGill
was sitting on the porch, calling on Grandma Shears. If only it had
been anybody but Rev. MacGill! Missy cherished a secret but profound
admiration for Rev. MacGill; he had come recently to Cherryvale and
was younger than ministers usually are and, though not exactly
handsome, had fascinating dark glowing eyes. Now, as his eyes turned
toward her, she suddenly prickled with embarrassment--her legs were
showing to her knees! She tried vainly to pull down her skirt, then
tried to head Gypsy toward the barn. But Grandma Shears, in
scandalized tones, called out:

"Why, Melissa Merriam! Get down off that horse immediately!"

Shamefacedly Missy obeyed, but none too gracefully since her legs
were not yet accustomed to that straddling position.

"What in the world will you girls be up to next?" Grandma Shears
went on, looking like an outraged Queen Victoria. "I don't know what
this generation's coming to," she lamented, turning to the minister.
"Young girls try to act like hoodlums--deliberately TRY! In my day
girls were trained to be--and desired to be--little ladies."

Little ladies!--in the minister's presence, the phrase didn't fall