“Well, if the wasp was all that was the matter,” queried mother, “why didn't you go after it?”
“Why did you just stand there and let it keep stinging you?”
Missy opened her lips but quickly closed them again. She realized there was something inconsistent in her explanation. Mother had accused her of immodesty: riding astride and wearing those scandalous pepper-and-salts and showing her legs. If mother was right, if she WAS brazen, somehow it didn't tie up to claim confusion because her--
She didn't try to explain. With hanging head she went meekly to her room. Mother had ruled she must stay there, in disgrace, till father came home and a proper punishment was decided upon.
At supper father came up to see her. He was disapproving, of course, though she felt that his heart wasn't entirely unsympathetic. Even though he told her Mr. Picker had made him pay for the bucket of candy. Missy knew it must have gone hard with him to be put in the wrong by Mr. Picker.
“Did you bring it home?” brightening at a thought.
“I don't see why, if you had to pay for it. The bottom part wasn't hurt at all.”
Father laughed then, actually laughed. She was glad to see the serious look removed from his face; but she still begrudged all that candy.
Nor was that the end of the part played by the candy. That night, as she was kneeling in her nightgown by the window, gazing out at the white moonlight and trying to summon the lovely thoughts the night's magic used to bring, the door opened softly and mother came tiptoeing in.
“You ought to be in bed, dear,” she said. No, Missy reflected, she could never, never be really cross with mother. She climbed into bed and, with a certain degree of comfort, watched mother smooth up the sheet and fold the counterpane carefully over the foot-rail.
“Mrs. O'Neill just phoned,” mother said. “Tess is very sick. It seems she and Arthur got hold of that bucket of candy.”
That was all she said, all she felt capable of saying. The twisted thoughts, emotions and revulsions which surge in us as we watch the inexplicable workings of Fate are often difficult of expression. But, after mother had kissed her good night and gone, she lay pondering for a long time. Life is curiously unfair. That Tess and Arthur should have got the candy for which SHE suffered, that the very hours she'd been shut up with shame and disgrace THEY were gorging themselves, seemed her climactic crown of sorrow.