After that the afternoon went rushing by on wings of joy. When the
visitors departed Missy had many duties to perform, but they were
not dull, ordinary duties; they were all tinted over with rainbow
colours. She stemmed strawberries in the kitchen where Marguerite,
the hired girl, was putting up fruit, and she loved the pinkish-red
and grey-green of the berries against the deep yellow of the bowl.
She loved, too, the colour of the geraniums against the green-
painted sill just beside her. And the sunlight making leafwork
brocade on the grass out the window! There were times when
combinations of colour seemed the most beautiful thing in the world.

Then she had to mind the baby for a while, and she took him out on
the side lawn and pretended to play croquet with him. The baby
wasn't quite three, and it was delicious to see him, with mallet and
ball before a wicket, trying to mimic the actions of his elders.
Poppylinda, Missy's big black cat, wanted to play too, and succeeded
in getting between the baby's legs and upsetting him. But the baby
was under a charm; he only picked himself up and laughed. And Missy
was sure that black Poppy also laughed.

That night at supper she didn't have much chance to talk to father
about the big event, for he had brought an old friend home to
supper. Missy was rather left out of the conversation. She felt glad
for that; it is hard to talk to old people; it is hard to express to
them the thoughts and feelings that possess you. Besides, to-night
she didn't want to talk to anyone, nor to listen. She only wanted to
sit immersed in that soft, warm, fluttering deliciousness.

Just as the meal was over the hall telephone rang and, at a sign