"When I ran over to the Greenleaf's to borrow the sugar," Aunt
Nettie was saying, "May White was there, and she and Helen hurried
out of the dining room when they saw me. I'm sure they'd been
crying, and--"

"S-sh!" warned Mrs. Merriam, with a glance toward Missy. Then, in a
louder tone: "Eat your cereal, Missy. Why are you letting it get
cold?"

Missy brought her eyes back from space with an answering smile. "I
was thinking," she explained.

"What of, Missy?" This, encouragingly, from father.

"Oh, my dream, last night."

"What did you dream about?"

"Oh--mountains," replied Missy, somewhat vaguely.

"For the land's sake!" exclaimed Aunt Nettie. "What ever put such a
thing into her head? She never saw a mountain in her life!" Grown-
ups have a disconcerting way of speaking of children, even when
present, in the third person. But Aunt Nettie finally turned to
Missy with a direct (and dreaded): "What did they look like, Missy?"

"Oh--mountains," returned Missy, still vague.

At a sign from mother, the others did not press her further. When