longing to be pretty made her fairly ache.

Then slowly the words of that man crept across her memory: "What
beautiful eyes!" Could he have meant her? She stared at the eyes
which stared back from the looking-glass till she had the odd
sensation that they were something quite strange and Allen to her:
big, dark, deep, and grave eyes, peering out from some unknown
consciousness. And they were beautiful eyes!

Suddenly she was awakened from her dreams by a voice at the door:
"Missy, why in the world haven't you gone to bed?"

Missy started and blushed as though discovered in mischief.

"What have you been doing with your hair?"

"Oh, just experimenting. Mother, may I have it crimped for the
party?"

"I don't know--we'll see. Now hurry and jump into bed."

After mother had kissed her good night and gone, and after the light
had been turned out, Missy lay awake for a long time.

Through the lace window curtains shone the moonlight, a gleaming
path along which Missy had often flown out to be a fairy. It is
quite easy to be a fairy. You lie perfectly still, your arms
stretched out like wings. Then you fix your eyes on the moonlight
and imagine you feel your wings stir. And the first thing you know
you feel yourself being wafted through the window, up through the