she had finished her breakfast, Missy approached her mother, and the
latter, reading the question in her eyes, asked:

"Well, what is it, Missy?"

"I feel--like pink to-day," faltered Missy, half-embarrassed.

But her mother did not ask for explanation. She only pondered a
moment.

"You know," reminded the supplicant, "I have to try on the Pink
Dress this morning."

"Very well, then," granted mother. "But only the second-best ones."

Missy's face brightened and she made for the door.

Before she got altogether out of earshot, Aunt Nettie began: "I
don't know that it's wise to humour her in her notions. 'Feel like
pink!'--what in the world does she mean by that?"

Missy was glad the question had not been put to her; for, to have
saved her life, she couldn't have answered it intelligibly. She was
out of hearing too soon to catch her mother's answer:

"She's just worked up over the wedding, and being a flower-girl and
all."

"Well, I don't believe," stated Aunt Nettie with the assurance that
spinsters are wont to show in discussing such matters, "that it's