behindhand already."

So Missy led Gypsy into the yard and took the pail her mother
brought out to her.

"The peaches aren't quite ripe," said mother, with a little worried
pucker, "but they'll have to do. They have some lovely peaches at
Picker's, but papa won't hear of my trading at Picker's any more."

Missy thought it silly of her father to have curtailed trading at
Picker's--she missed Arthur's daily visit to the kitchen door with
the delivery-basket--merely because Mr. Picker had beaten father for
election on the Board of Aldermen. Father explained it was a larger
issue than party politics; even had Picker been a Republican he'd
have fought him, he said, for everyone knew Picker was abetting the
Waterworks graft. But Missy didn't see why that should keep him from
buying things from Picker's which mother really needed; mother said
it was "cutting off your nose to spite your face."

Philosophizing on the irrationality of old people, she proceeded to
get enough scarcely-ripe peaches for a deep-dish pie. Being horribly
afraid of climbing, she used the simple expedient of grasping the
lower limbs of the tree and shaking down the fruit.

"Missy!" called mother's voice from the dining room window. "That
horse is slobbering all over the peaches!" "I can't help it--she
follows me every place."

"Then you'll have to tie her up!"