"Hello, there! What are you up to?"

On the side porch, not twenty feet away, Mr. Hackett was regarding
her with amazed and hostile eyes. Missy's heart thumped against her
ribs. Her consternation was not lessened when, tossing away his
cigarette with a vindictive gesture, he added: "Stay where you are!"

Missy slackened her hold and crouched back like a hunted criminal.
And like a hunted criminal he condemned her, a moment later, to old
Mrs. Greenleaf.

"That kid from next door has been snooping in here. I caught her
trying to sneak out."

Missy faltered out her explanation.

"I know it wasn't your fault, dear," said old Mrs. Greenleaf kindly.
"What was it you wanted?"

Her errand forgotten, Missy could only attempt a smile and dumbly
extend the bouquet.

Old Mrs. Greenleaf took the flowers, then spoke over her shoulder:
"I think Helen wants you upstairs, Porter." Missy had always thought
she was like a Roman Matron; now it was upsetting to see the Roman
Matron so upset.

"Miss Helen's got a terrible headache and is lying down," said old
Mrs. Greenleaf, fussing over the flowers.