"Tess never ties her up in THEIR yard!"

"Well, I won't have him slobbering over the fruit," repeated mother
firmly.

"I'll--climb the tree," said Missy desperately.

And she did. She was in mortal terror--every second she was sure she
was going to fall--but she couldn't bear the vision of Gypsy's
reproachful eyes above a strangling halter; Gypsy shouldn't think
her hostess, so to speak, less kind than her own mistress.

The peach pie came out beautifully and the supper promised to be a
great success. Mother had zealously ascertained Rev. MacGill's
favourite dishes, and was flushed but triumphant; she came of a
devout family that loved to feed preachers well. And everyone was in
fine spirits; only Missy, at the first, had a few bad moments. WOULD
he mention it? He might think it his duty, think that mother should
know. It was maybe his duty to tell. Preachers have a sterner creed
of duty than other people, of course. She regarded him anxiously
from under the veil of her lashes, wondering what would happen if he
did tell. Mother would be horribly ashamed, and she herself would be
all the more ashamed because mother was. Aunt Nettie would be
satirically disapproving and say cutting things. Father would
probably just laugh, but later he'd be serious and severe. And not
one of them would ever, ever understand.

As the minutes went by, her strain of suspense gradually lessened.
Rev. MacGill was chatting away easily--about the delicious chicken-
stuffing and quince jelly, and the election, and the repairs on the