At the house she discovered that the baby was awake, so she had to
hurry back to take care of him. She always loved to do that; she
didn't mind that a desire to dress up in her party attire had just
struck her, for the baby always entered into the spirit of her
performances. While she was fastening up the pink dotted mull, Poppy
walked inquisitively in and sat down to oversee this special,
important event. Missy succeeded with the greatest difficulty in
adjusting the brocaded sash to her satisfaction. She regretted her
unwaved hair, but mother was going to crimp it herself in the
evening. The straight, everyday coiffure marred the picture in the
mirror, yet, aided by her imagination, it was pleasing. She stood
with arms extended in a languid, graceful pose, her head thrown
back, gazing with half-closed eyes at something far, far beyond her
own eyes in the glass.

Then suddenly she began to dance. She danced with her feet, her
arms, her hands, her soul. She felt within her the grace of stately
beauties, the heartbeat of dew-jewelled fairies, the longings of
untrammelled butterflies--dancing, she could have flown up to heaven
at that moment! A gurgle of sound interrupted her; it was the baby.
"Do you like me, baby?" she cried. "Am I beautiful, baby?"

Baby, now, could talk quite presentably in the language of grown-
ups. But in addition he knew all kinds of wise, unintelligible
words. Missy knew that they were wise, even though she could not
understand their meaning, and she was glad the baby chose, this
time, to answer in that secret jargon.

She kissed the baby and, in return, the baby smiled his secret