Missy was silent; even when she felt herself misunderstood by her
family and maltreated, she had a bothersome conscience.

"There's no real class to riding horseback," Tess went on, "unless
you're up to date. You got to be up to date. Of course Cherryvale's
slow, but that's no reason we've got to be slow, is it?"

"No-o," agreed Missy hesitantly. But she was emboldened to mention
her father's discarded pepper-and-salt trousers. At the first she
didn't intend really to appropriate them, but Tess caught up the
idea enthusiastically. She immediately began making concrete plans
and, soon, Missy caught her fervour. That picture of herself as a
dashing, fearless horsewoman had come to life again.

When she got home, mother, looking worried, was waiting for her.

"Where on earth have you been? Look at that straggly hair! And that
dress, fresh just this morning--limp as a dish-rag!"

Missy tried to explain, but the anxiety between mother's eyes
deepened to lines of crossness.

"For heaven's sake! To go rushing off like that without a rain-coat
or even an umbrella! And you pretend to be afraid of thunder-storms!
Now, Missy, it isn't because you've ruined your dress or likely
caught your death of cold--but to think you'd wilfully disobey me!
What on earth AM I to do with you?"

She made Missy feel like an unregenerate sinner. And Missy liked her