fold. She found time to return thanks that her breeches had been cut
with that smart bouffance. Then she cringed as she felt it again.
How had It got in there? The realization that she must have torn her
pepper-and-salts, for a breath brought embarrassment acutely to the
fore; then, as that tickling promenade over her anatomy was resumed,
she froze under paramount fear.

"For Pete's sake!" shouted Arthur. "Don't just stand there!--can't
you do SOMETHING?"

But Missy could do nothing. Removing Gypsy was no longer the
paramount issue. Ready to die of shame but at the same time
engripped by deadly terror, she stood, legs wide apart, for her
life's sake unable to move. She had lost count of time, but was
agonizedly aware of its passage; she seemed to stand there in that
anguished stupor for centuries. In reality it was but a second
before she heard Arthur's voice again:

"For Heaven's sake!" he muttered, calamity's approach intensifying
his abjurgations. "There's the old man!"

Apprehensively, abasedly, but with legs still stolidly apart, Missy
looked up. Yes, there was Mr. Picker, elbowing his way through the
crowd. Then an icy trickle chilled her spine; following Mr. Picker,
carrying his noon mail, was Rev. MacGill.

"Here!--What's this?" demanded Mr. Picker.

Then she heard Arthur, that craven-hearted, traitor-souled being she
had once called "friend," that she had even desired to impress,--she