song of the shoes never ceased. Louder and louder it waxed. It
crashed into the innermost fibres of her frame, completely deafened
her mental processes. Never would she forget it: creak-creak-creak-
creak!

And the moon, usually so kind and gentle, grinned down derisively.

At last, after eons, they reached the corner of her own yard. How
unchanged, how natural everything looked here! Over there, across
the stretch of white moonlight, sat the summerhouse, symbol of peace
and every day, cloaked in its fragrant ramblers.

Ramblers! A sudden remembrance darted through Missy's perturbed
brain. Her poor flowers--were they still out there? She must carry
them into the house with her! On the impulse, without pausing to
reflect that her action might look queer, she exclaimed: "Wait a
minute!" and ran fleetly across the moonlit yard. In a second she
had the bouquet out of the pitcher and was back again beside him,
breathless.

"I left them out there," she said. "I--I forgot them. And I didn't
want to leave them out there all night."

Jim bent down and sniffed at the roses. "They smell awfully sweet,
don't they?" he said.

Suddenly, without premeditation, Missy extended them to him. "You
may have them," she offered.

"I?" He received them awkwardly. "That's awfully sweet of you. Say,