“You shouldn't be so worldly, Arthur,” she said in a voice of gentle reproof.
She nodded seriously over her serviceable, unworldly brown collarette.
“How am I worldly?” he pursued, in a tone of one not entirely unpleased.
“Why--throwing wads in church--lack of respect for religious things--and things like that.”
“Oh, I see,” said Arthur, his tone dropping a little. “I suppose it was a silly thing to do,” he added with a touch of stiffness.
“It was a profane kind of thing,” she said, sadly. “Don't you see, Arthur?”
“If I'm such a sinner, I don't see why you have anything to do with me.”
It stirred her profoundly that he didn't laugh, scoff at her; she had feared he might. She answered, very gravely:
“It's because I like you. You don't think it's a pleasure to me to find fault with you, do you Arthur?”
“Then why find fault?” he asked good-naturedly.
“But if the faults are THERE?” she persevered.
“Let's forget about 'em, then,” he answered with cheerful logic. “Everybody can't be good like YOU, you know.”
Missy felt nonplussed, though subtly pleased, in a way. Arthur DID admire her, thought her “good”--perhaps, in time she could be a good influence to him. But at a loss just how to answer his personal allusion, she glanced backward over her shoulder. In the moonlight she saw a tall man back there in the distance.
“I don't s'pose you'll be going to the Library again to-morrow night?” suggested Arthur presently.
“Why, I don't know--why?” But she knew “why,” and her knowledge gave her a tingle.
“Oh, I was just thinking that if you had to look up some references or something, maybe I might drop around again.”
“Maybe I WILL have to--I don't know just yet,” she murmured, confused with a sweet kind of confusion.
“Well, I'll just drop by, anyway,” he said. “Maybe you'll be there.”
Another pause. Trying to think of something to say, she glanced again over her shoulder. Then she clutched at Arthur's arm.
“Look at that man back there--following us! He looks something like father!”
As she spoke she unconsciously quickened her pace; Arthur consciously quickened his. He knew--as all of the boys of “the crowd” knew--Mr. Merriam's stand on the matter of beaux.
“Oh!” cried Missy under her breath. She fancied that the tall figure had now accelerated his gait, also. “It IS father! I'll cut across this vacant lot and get in at the kitchen door--I can beat him home that way!”