in high school, he used to study the Latin lesson with her and wait
for her after school and carry her books home for her. He had done
that although Kitty Allen was much prettier than she and though
Beulah Crosswhite was much, much smarter. The other girls had teased
her about him, and the boys must have teased Raymond, for after a
while he had stopped walking home with her. She didn't know whether
she was gladder or sorrier for that. But she knew that she was glad
he did not ignore that radiant, pink-swathed guest who, in her
beautiful vision, was having such a glorious time at his party.

Next morning she awoke to find a soft, misty rain greying the world
outside her window. Missy did not mind that; she loved rainy days--
they made you feel so pleasantly sad. For a time she lay quiet,
watching the slant, silvery threads and feeling mysteriously,
fascinatingly, at peace. Then Poppy, who always slept at the foot of
her bed, awoke with a tremendous yawning and stretching--exactly the
kind of "exercises" that young Doc Alison prescribed for father, who
hated to get up in the mornings!

Then Poppy, her exercises done, majestically trod the coverlet to
salute her mistress with the accustomed matinal salutation which
Missy called a kiss. Mother did not approve of Poppy's "kisses," but
Missy argued to herself that the morning one, dependable as an alarm
clock, kept her from oversleeping.

She hugged Poppy, jumped out of bed, and began dressing. When she
got downstairs breakfast was ready and the house all sweetly
diffused with the dreamy shadows that come with a rainy day.

Father had heard the great news and bantered her: "So we've got a