Missy nodded again, vibrant with repressed excitement. "I'll just
pretend it's a secret about a poem. Miss Princess always helps make
secrets about poems."

Evidently Miss Princess did so this time. For, after an eternity of
ten minutes, Young Doc, peering through the leaves of the
summerhouse, saw Missy and her convoy coming across the lawn. Missy
was walking along very solemnly, with only an occasional skip to
betray the ebullition within her.

But it was on the tall girl that Young Doc's gaze was riveted, the
slender graceful figure which, for all its loveliness, had something
pathetically drooping about it--like a lily with a storm-bruised
stem.

Something in Young Doc's throat clicked, and every last trace of
resentment and wounded pride magically dissolved. He went straight
to her in the doorway, and for a moment they stood there as if
forgetful of everyone else in the world. Neither spoke, as is the
way of those whose minds and hearts are full of inarticulate things.
Then it was Doc who broke the silence.

"By the way, Missy," he said in quite an ordinary tone, "there are
some of those sugar pills in a bag out in the Ford. You'll find them
tucked in a corner of the seat."

Obediently Missy departed to get the treat. And when she returned,
not too quickly, Miss Princess was laughing and crying both at once,
and Young Doc was openly squeezing both her hands.