understand and she couldn't explain it in words, anyway--not even to
herself. So she stood first on one foot and then on the other, and
felt perfectly inadequate and miserable.

At last, wanting frightfully to say something that would ameliorate
her conduct somewhat in mother's eyes, she said:

"I guess it WAS an awful thing to do, mother. And I'm AWFULLY sorry.
But it wouldn't have come out quite so bad--I could have managed
Gypsy better, I think--if it hadn't been for that old wasp."

"Wasp?" questioned mother.

"Yes, there was a lot of mud-wasps got to flying around and one some
way got inside of my--my breeches. And you know how scared to death
I am of wasps. I KNOW I could have managed Gypsy, but when I felt
that wasp crawling around--" She broke off; tried again. "Don't
think I couldn't manage her--but when I felt that--"

"Well, if the wasp was all that was the matter,'' queried mother,
"why didn't you go after it?"

Missy didn't reply.

"Why did you just stand there and let it keep stinging you?"

Missy opened her lips but quickly closed them again. She realized
there was something inconsistent in her explanation. Mother had
accused her of immodesty: riding astride and wearing those
scandalous pepper-and-salts and showing her legs. If mother was