Books: Missy

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Both the grey heads remained prayerfully bent; but at her "Amen"
both of them lifted. And oh! what a reward was the expression in
those two pairs of eyes!

Grandma came swiftly to her and kissed her, and exclaimed:

"Why, however did you learn all that long Psalm, dear? And you
recited it so beautifully, too!--Not a single mistake! I never was
prouder in my life!"

Grandpa didn't kiss her, but he kept saying over and over:

"Just think of that baby!--the dear little baby."

And Missy, despite her spiritual exaltation, couldn't help feeling
tremendously pleased.

"It was a surprise--I thought you'd be surprised," she remarked with
satisfaction.

Grandma excitedly began to ask all kinds of questions as to how
Missy came to pick out that particular Psalm, and what difficulties
she experienced in learning it all; but it was grandpa who,
characteristically, enquired:

"And what does it mean to you, Missy?"

"Mean--?" she repeated.

"Yes. For instance, what docs that last verse mean?"

"'Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life-
-?' That--?"

"Yes, baby."

"Why, I think I see myself walking through some big, thick woods.
It's springtime, and the trees are all green, and the grass slick
and soft. And birds are singing, and the wind's singing in the
leaves, too. And the sun's shining, and all the clouds have silver
edges."

She paused.

"Yes, dear," said grandpa.

"That's the house of the Lord," she explained.

"Yes, dear," said grandpa again. "What else?"

"Well, I'm skipping and jumping along, for I'm happy to be in the
house of the Lord. And there are three little fairies, all dressed
in silver and gold, and with paper-flowers in their hair, and long
diamond bangles hanging like fringe on their skirts. They're
following me, and they're skipping and jumping, too. They're the
three fairies in the verse."

"The three fairies?" Grandpa seemed puzzled.

Yes. It says 'Surely goodness and mercy,' you know."

"But that makes only two, doesn't it?" said grandpa, still puzzled.

Missy laughed at his stupidity.

"Why, no!--Three!" She counted them off on her fingers: "Surely--and
Goodness--and Mercy. Don't you see?"

"Oh, yes, dear--I see now," said grandpa, very slowly. "I wasn't
counting Surely."

Just then came a chuckle from the doorway. Missy hadn't seen Pete
enter, else she would have been less free in revealing her real
thoughts. What had he overheard?

Still laughing, Pete advanced into the room.

"So there's a fairy named 'Surely,' is there? What's the colour of
her eyes, Missy?"

Missy shrank a little closer into the haven of grandpa's knees. And
grandpa, in the severe voice that made the other children stand in
awe of him, said:

"That will do, Peter!"

But Peter, unawed, went on:

"I know, grandpa--but she's such a funny little dingbat! And now,
that she's turned pious--"

Grandpa interrupted him with a gesture of the hand.

"I said that'd do, Peter. If you'd find some time to attend prayers
instead of cavorting round over town, it wouldn't hurt you any."

Then grandma, who, though she was fond of Missy, was fond of Pete
also, joined in defensively:

"Pete hasn't been cavorting round over town, grandpa--he's just been
over to the Curriers'."

At that Missy turned interested eyes upon her big cousin. He'd been
calling on Polly Currier again! Polly Currier was one of the
prettiest big girls in Cherryvale. Missy gazed at Pete, so handsome
in his stylish-looking blue serge coat and sharply creased white
ducks, debonairly twirling the bamboo walking-stick which the
Cherryvale boys, half-enviously, twitted him about, and felt the
wings of Romance whirring in the already complicated air. For this
additional element of interest he furnished, she could almost
forgive him his scoffing attitude toward her own most serious
affairs.

But Pete, fortunately for his complacency, didn't suspect the reason
for her concentrated though friendly gaze.

All in all, Missy felt quite at peace when she went upstairs.
Grandma tucked her into bed--the big, extraordinarily soft feather-
bed which was one of the outstanding features of grandma's
fascinating house.

And there--wonder of wonders!--the moon, through grandma's window,
found her out just as readily as though she'd been in her own little
bed at home. Again it carried in the grace of God, to rest through
the night on her pillow.

Next day was an extremely happy day. She had coffee for breakfast,
and was permitted by Alma, the hired girl, to dry all the cups and
saucers. Then she dusted the parlour, including all the bric-a-brac,
which made dusting here an engrossing occupation. Later she helped
grandpa hoe the cabbages, and afterward "puttered around" with
grandma in the flower-garden. Then she and grandma listened, very
quietly, through a crack in the nearly-closed door while grandpa
conducted a hearing in the parlour. To tell the truth, Missy wasn't
greatly interested in whether Mrs. Brenning's chickens had scratched
up Mrs. Jones's tomato-vines, hut she pretended to be interested
because grandma was.

And then, after the hearing was over, and the Justice-of-the-Peace
had become just grandpa again, Missy went into the parlour and
played hymns. Then came dinner, a splendid and heavy repast which
constrained her to take a nap. After the nap she felt better, and
sat out on the front porch to learn crocheting from grandma.

For a while Pete sat with them, and Polly Currier from next door
came over, too. She looked awfully pretty all in white--white
shirtwaist and white duck skirt and white canvas oxfords. Presently
Pete suggested that Polly go into the parlour with him to look at
some college snapshots. Missy wondered why he didn't bring them out
to the porch where it was cooler, but she was too polite to ask.

They stayed in there a long time--what were they doing? For long
spaces she couldn't even hear their voices. Grandma chattered away
with her usual vivacity; presently she suggested that they leave off
crocheting and work on paper-flowers a while. What a delight! Missy
was just learning the intricacies of peonies, and adored to squeeze
the rosy tissue-paper over the head of a hat-pin and observe the
amazing result.

"Run up to my room, dear," said grandma. "You'll find the box on the
closet shelf."

Missy knew the "paper-flower box." It was a big hat-box,
appropriately covered with pink-posied paper--a quaintly beautiful
box.

In the house, passing the parlour door, she tip-toed, scarcely
knowing why. There was now utter silence in the parlour--why were
they so still? Perhaps they had gone out somewhere. Without any
definite plan, but still tip-toeing in the manner she and grandma
had approached to overhear the law-suit, she moved toward the
partly-closed door. Through the crevice they were out of vision, but
she could hear a subdued murmur--they were in there after all!
Missy, too interested to be really conscious of her act, strained
her ears.

Polly Currier murmured:

"Why, what do you mean?--what are you doing?"

Pete murmured:

"What a question!--I'm trying to kiss you."

"Let me go!--you're mussing my dress! You can't kiss me--let me go!"

Pete murmured:

"Not till you let me kiss you!"

Polly Currier murmured:

"I suppose that's the way you talk to all the girls!--I know you
college men!"

Pete murmured, a whole world of reproach in one word:

"Polly."

They became silent--a long silence. Missy stood petrified behind the
door; her breathing ceased but her heart beat quickly. Here was
Romance--not the made-up kind of Romance you surreptitiously read in
mother's magazines, but real Romance! And she--Missy--knew them
both! And they were just the other side of the door!

Too thrilled to reflect upon the nature of her deed, scarcely
conscious of herself as a being at all, Missy craned her neck and
peered around the door. They were sitting close together on the
divan. Pete's arm was about Polly Currier's shoulder. And he was
kissing her! Curious, that! Hadn't she just heard Polly tell him
that he couldn't?. . . Oh, beautiful!

She started noiselessly to withdraw, but her foot struck the conch
shell which served as a door-stop. At the noise two startled pairs
of eyes were upon her immediately; and Pete, leaping up, advanced
upon her with a fierce whisper:

"You little spy-eye!--What're you up to? You little spy-eye!"

A swift wave of shame engulfed Missy.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" she cried in a stricken voice. "I didn't mean to,
Pete--I--"

He interrupted her, still in that fierce whisper:

"Stop yelling, can't you! No, I suppose you 'didn't mean to'--Right
behind the door!" His eyes withered her.

"Truly, I didn't, Pete." Her own voice, now, had sunk to a whisper.
"Cross my heart I didn't!"

But he still glared.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself--always sneaking round! You
ought to be ashamed of yourself!"

"Oh, I am, Pete," she quavered, though, in fact, she wasn't sure in
just what lay the shamefulness of her deed; till he'd spoken she had
felt nothing but Romance in the air.

"Well, you ought to be," Pete reiterated. He hesitated a second,
then went on:

"You aren't going to blab it all around, are you?"

"Oh, no!" breathed Missy, horrified at such a suggestion. "Well, see
that you don't! I'll give you some candy to-morrow."

"Yes--candy," came Polly's voice faintly from the divan.

Then, as the subject seemed to be exhausted, Missy crept away,
permeated with the sense of her sin.

It was horrible! To have sinned just when she'd found the wonderful
new feeling. Just when she'd resolved to be good always, that she
might dwell in the house of the Lord forever. She hadn't intended to
sin; but she must have been unusually iniquitous. Pete's face had
told her that. It was particularly horrible because sin had stolen
upon her so suddenly. Does sin always take you unawares, that way? A
new and black fear settled heavily over her.

When she finally returned to the porch with the paper-flowers box,
she was embarrassed by grandma's asking what had kept her so long.
It would have been easy to make up an excuse, but this new sense of
sin restrained her from lying. So she mumbled unintelligibly, till
grandma interrupted:

"Do you feel sick, Missy?" she asked anxiously.

"No, ma'am."

"Are you sure? You ate so much at dinner. Maybe you didn't take a
long enough nap."

"I'm not sleepy, grandma."

But grandma insisted on feeling her forehead--her hands. They were
hot.

"I think I'd better put you to bed for a little while," said
grandma. "You're feverish. And if you're not better by night, you
mustn't go to the meeting."

Missy's heart sank, weighted with a new fear. It would be an
unbearable calamity to miss going to the meeting. For, that night, a
series of "revivals" were to start at the Methodist Church; and,
though father was a Presbyterian (to oblige mother), grandpa and
grandma were Methodists and would go every night; and so long as
mother was away, she could go to meeting with them. In the fervour
of the new religious feeling she craved sanctified surroundings.

So, though she didn't feel at all sick and though she wanted
desperately to make paper-flowers, she docilely let herself be put
to bed. Anyway, perhaps it was just a penance sent to her by our
Lord, to make atonement for her sin.

By supper-time grandma agreed that she seemed well enough to go.
Throughout the meal Pete, who was wearing an aloof and serious
manner, refrained from looking at her, and she strived to keep her
own anxious gaze away from him. He wasn't going to the meeting with
the other three.

Just as the lingering June twilight was beginning to darken--the
most peaceful hour of the day--Missy walked off sedately between her
grandparents. She was wearing her white "best dress." It seemed
appropriate that your best clothes should be always involved in the
matter of church going; that the spiritual beatification within
should be reflected by the garments without.

The Methodist church in Cherryvale prided itself that it was not
"new-fangled." It was not nearly so pretentious in appearance as was
the Presbyterian church. Missy, in her heart, preferred stained-
glass windows and their glorious reflections, as an asset to
religion; but at night services you were not apt to note that
deficiency.

She sat well up front with her grandparents, as befitted their
position as pillars of the church, and from this vantage had a good
view of the proceedings. She could see every one in the choir,
seated up there behind the organ on the side platform. Polly Currier
was in the choir; she wasn't a Methodist, but she had a flute-like
soprano voice, and the Methodists--whom all the town knew had "poor
singing"--had overstepped the boundaries of sectarianism for this
revival. Polly looked like an angel in pink lawn and rose-wreathed
leghorn hat; she couldn't know that Missy gazed upon her with secret
adoration as a creature of Romance--one who had been kissed! Missy
continued to gaze at Polly during the preliminary songs--tunes
rather disappointing, not so beautiful as Missy's own favourite
hymns--till the preacher appeared.

The Reverend Poole--"Brother" Poole as grandpa called him, though he
wasn't a relation--was a very tall, thin man with a blonde, rather
vacuous face; but at exhortation and prayer he "had the gift." For
so good a man, he had a remarkably poor opinion of the virtues of
his fellow-men. Missy couldn't understand half his fiery eloquence;
but she felt his inspiration; and she gathered that most of the
congregation must be sinners. Knowing herself to be a sinner, she
wasn't so much surprised at that.

Finally Brother Poole, with quavering voice, urged all sinners to
come forward and kneel at the feet of Jesus, and pray to be "washed
in the blood of the lamb." Thus would their sins be forgiven them,
and their souls be born anew. Missy's soul quivered and stretched up
to be born anew. So, with several other sinners--including grandpa
and grandma whom she had never before suspected of sin--she
unhesitatingly walked forward. She invoked the grace of God; her
head, her body, her feet seemed very light and remote as she walked;
she seemed, rather, to float; her feet scarcely touched the red-
ingrain aisle "runner"--she was nearly all spirit. She knelt before
the altar between grandpa and grandma, one hand tight-clasped in
grandpa's.

Despite her exaltation, she was conscious of material things. For
instance she noted that Mrs. Brenning was on the other side of
grandma, and wondered whether she were atoning for the sins of her
chickens against Mrs. Jones's tomato-vines; she noticed, too, that
Mrs. Brenning's hat had become askew, which gave her a queer,
unsuitable, rakish look. Yet Missy didn't feel like laughing. She
felt like closing her eyes and waiting to be born anew. But, before
closing her eyes, she sent a swift glance up at the choir platform.
Polly Currier was still up there, looking very placid as she sang
with the rest of the choir. They were singing a rollicking tune. She
listened--

"Pull for the shore, sailor! Pull for the shore! Leave the poor old
strangled wretch, and pull for the shore!"

Who was the old strangled wretch? A sinner, doubtless. Ah, the world
was full of sin. She looked again at Polly. Polly's placidity was
reassuring; evidently she was not a sinner. But it was time to close
her eyes. However, before doing so, she sent a swift upward glance
toward the preacher. He had a look on his face as though an electric
light had been turned on just inside. He was praying fervently for
God's grace upon "these Thy repentant creatures." Missy shut her
eyes, repented violently, and awaited the miracle. What would
happen? How would it feel, when her soul was born anew? Surely it
must be time. She waited and waited, while her limbs grew numb and
her soul continued to quiver and stretch up. But in vain; she
somehow didn't feel the grace of God nearly as much as last Sunday
when the Presbyterian choir was singing "Asleep in Jesus," while the
sun shone divinely through the stained-glass window.

She felt cheated and very sad when, at last, the preacher bade the
repentant ones stand up again. Evidently she hadn't repented hard
enough. Very soberly she walked back to the pew and took her place
between grandpa and grandma. They looked rather sober, too; she
wondered if they, also, had had trouble with their souls.

Then Brother Poole bade the repentant sinners to "stand up and
testify." One or two of the older sinners, who had repented before,
rose first to show how this was done. And then some of the younger
ones, after being urged, followed example. Sobbing, they testified
as to their depth of sin and their sense of forgiveness, while
Brother Poole intermittently cut in with staccato exclamations such
as "Praise the Lord!" and "My Redeemer Liveth!"

Missy was eager to see whether grandpa and grandma would stand up
and testify. When neither of them did so, she didn't know whether
she was more disappointed or relieved. Perhaps their silence denoted
that their souls had been born anew quite easily. Or again--! She
sighed; her soul, at all events, had proved a failure.

She was silent on the way home. Grandpa and grandma held her two
hands clasped in theirs and over her head talked quietly. She was
too dejected to pay much attention to what they were saying; caught
only scattered, meaningless phrases: "Of course that kind of frenzy
is sincere but--" "Simple young things--" "No more idea of sin or
real repentance--"

But Missy was engrossed with her own dismal thoughts. The blood of
the Lamb had passed her by.

And that night, for the first time in three nights, the grace of God
didn't flow in on the flood of moonlight through her window. She
tossed on her unhallowed pillow in troubled dreams. Once she cried
out in sleep, and grandma came hurrying in with a candle. Grandma
sat down beside her--what was this she was saying about "green-apple
pie"? Missy wished to ask her about it--green-apple pie--green-apple
pie--Before she knew it she was off to sleep again.

It was the next morning while she was still lying in bed, that Missy
made the Great Resolve. That hour is one when big Ideas--all kinds
of unusual thoughts--are very apt to come. When you're not yet
entirely awake; not taken up with trivial, everyday things. Your
mind, then, has full swing.

Lying there in grandma's soft feather bed, Missy wasn't yet
distracted by daytime affairs. She dreamily regarded the patch of
blue sky showing through the window, and bits of fleecy cloud, and
flying specks of far-away birds. How wonderful to be a bird and live
up in the beautiful sky! When she died and became an angel, she
could live up there! But was she sure she'd become an angel? That
reflection gradually brought her thoughts to the events of the
preceding night.

Though she could recall those events distinctly, Missy now saw them
in a different kind of way. Now she was able to look at the evening
as a whole, with herself merely a part of the whole. She regarded
that sort of detached object which was herself. That detached Missy
had gone to the meeting, and failed to find grace. Others had gone
and found grace. Even though they had acted no differently from
Missy. Like her they sang tunes; listened to the preacher; bowed the
head; went forward and knelt at the feet of Jesus; repented; went
back to the pews; stood up and testified--

Oh!

Suddenly Missy gave a little sound, and stirred. She puckered her
brows in intense concentration. Perhaps--perhaps that was why!

And then she made the Great Resolve.

Soon after breakfast, Pete appeared with a bag of candy.

"I don't deserve it," said Missy humbly.

"You bet you don't!" acquiesced Pete.

So even he recognized her state of sin! Her Great Resolve
intensified.

That morning, for the first time in her life at grandma's house,
Missy shirked her "chores." She found paper and pencil, took a small
Holy Bible, and stole back to the tool-house where grandpa kept his
garden things and grandma her washtubs. For that which she now was
to do, Missy would have preferred the more beautiful summerhouse at
home; but grandma had no summerhouse, and this offered the only sure
seclusion.

She stayed out there a long time, seated on an upturned washtub;
read the Holy Bible for awhile; then became absorbed in the
ecstasies of composition. So engrossed was she that she didn't at
first hear grandma calling her.

Grandma was impatiently waiting on the back porch.

"What in the world are you doing out there?" she demanded.

Loath to lie, now, Missy made a compromise with her conscience.

"I was reading the Holy Bible, grandma."

Grandma's expression softened; and all she said was:

"Well, dinner's waiting, now."

Grandpa was staying down town and Pete was over at the Curriers', so
there were only grandma and Missy at the table. Missy tried to
attend to grandma's chatter and make the right answers in the right
places. But her mind kept wandering; and once grandma caught her
whispering.

"What is the matter with you, Missy? What are you whispering about?"

Guiltily Missy clapped her hand to her mouth.

"Oh! was I whispering?"

"Yes."

"I guess it was just a piece I'm learning."

"What piece?"

"I--I--it's going to be a surprise."

"Oh, another surprise? Well, that'll be nice," said grandma.

Missy longed acutely to be alone. It was upsetting to have to carry
on a conversation. That often throws you off of what's absorbing
your thoughts.

So she was glad when, after dinner, grandma said:

"I think you'd better take a little nap, dear. You don't seem quite
like yourself--perhaps you'd best not attempt the meeting to-night."

That last was a bomb-shell; but Missy decided not to worry about
such a possible catastrophe till the time should come. She found a
chance to slip out to the tool-house and rescue the Holy Bible and
the sheet of paper, the latter now so scratched out and interlined
as to be unintelligible to anyone save an author.

When at last she was alone in her room, she jumped out of bed--
religion, it seems, sometimes makes deception a necessity.

For a time she worked on the paper, bending close over it, cheeks
flushed, eyes shining, whispering as she scratched.

At supper, Missy was glad to learn that Pete had planned to attend
the meeting that evening. "Revivals" were not exactly in Pete's
line; but as long as Polly Currier had to be there, he'd decided he
might as well go to see her home. Moreover, he'd persuaded several
others of "the crowd" to go along and make a sort of party of it.

And Missy's strained ears caught no ominous suggestion as to her own
staying at home.

Later, walking sedately to the church between her grandparents,
Missy felt her heart beating so hard she feared they might hear it.
Once inside the church, she drew a long breath. Oh, if only she
didn't have so long to wait! How could she wait?

Polly Currier was again seated on the choir platform, to night an
angel in lavender mull. She had a bunch of pansies at her belt--
pansies out of grandma's garden. Pete must have given them to her!
She now and then smiled back toward the back pew where Pete and "the
crowd" were sitting.

To Missy's delight Polly sang a solo. It was "One Sweetly Solemn
Thought"--oh, rapture! Polly's high soprano floated up clear and
piercing-sweet. It was so beautiful that it hurt. Missy shut her
eyes. She could almost see angels in misty white and floating golden
hair. Something quivered inside her; once more on the wings of music
was the religious feeling stealing back to her.

The solo was finished, but Missy kept her eyes closed whenever she
thought no one was looking. She was anxious to hold the religious
feeling till her soul could be entirely born anew. And she had quite
a long time to wait. That made her task difficult and complicated;
for it's not easy at the same time to retain an emotional state and
to rehearse a piece you're afraid of forgetting.

But the service gradually wore through. Now they were at the "come
forward and sit at the feet of Jesus." To-night grandpa and grandma
didn't do that; they merely knelt in the pew with bowed heads. So
Missy also knelt with bowed head. She was by this time in a state
difficult to describe; a quivering jumble of excitement, eagerness,
timidity, fear, hope, and exaltation. . .

And now at last, was come the time!

Brother Poole, again wearing the look on his face as of an electric
light turned on within, exhorted the repentant ones to "stand up and
testify."

Missy couldn't bear to wait for someone else to begin. She jumped
hastily to her feet. Grandma tried to pull her down. Missy frowned
slightly--why was grandma tugging at her skirt? Tugging aways she
extended her arms with palms flat together and thumbs extended--one
of Brother Poole's most effective gestures--and began:

"My soul rejoiceth because I have seen the light. Yea, it burns in
my soul and my soul is restoreth. I will fear no evil even if it is
born again. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days
of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. I
have been a sinner but--"

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