The minister coughed a little cough--he was caught in a somewhat delicate situation; then, always tactful, replied: “Perhaps I did say that--her peach pie was very good. But I'm equally fond of all sweets--I have a sweet tooth.” At this point Missy gathered her courage to quaver a suggestion. “Couldn't you just take off the top crust, mother? Gypsy didn't touch the underneath part. Why can't you just--” But her mother's scandalized look silenced her. She must have made a faux pas. Father and Rev. MacGill laughed outright, and Aunt Nettie smiled a withering smile. “That's a brilliant idea,” she said satirically. “Perhaps you'd have us pick out the untouched bits of the crust, too!” Missy regarded her aunt reproachfully but helplessly; she was too genuinely upset for any repartee. Why did Aunt Nettie like to put her “in wrong”? Her suggestion seemed to her perfectly reasonable. Why didn't they act on it? But of course they'd ignore it, just making fun of her now but punishing her afterward. For she divined very accurately that they would hold her accountable for Gypsy's blunder--even though the blunder was rectifiable; it was a BIG pie, and most of it as good as ever. They were unreasonable, unjust. Mother seemed unable to tear herself away from the despoiled masterpiece. “Come, mamma,” said father, “it's nothing to make such a fuss about. Just trot out some of that apple sauce of yours. Mr. MacGill doesn't get to taste anything like that every day.” He turned to the minister. “The world's full of apple sauce--but there's apple sauce and apple sauce. Now my wife's apple sauce is APPLE SAUCE! I tell her it's a dish for a king.” And Rev. MacGill, after sampling the impromptu dessert, assured his hostess that her husband's eulogy had been only too moderate. He vowed he had never eaten such apple sauce. But Mrs. Merriam still looked bleak. She knew she could make a better deep-dish peach pie than Mrs. Allen could. And, then, to give the minister apple sauce and nabiscos!--the first time he had eaten at her table in two months! Missy, who knew her mother well, couldn't help feeling a deep degree of sympathy; besides, she wished Rev. MacGill might have had his pie--she liked Rev. MacGill better than ever. But she dreaded her first moments after the guest had departed; mother could be terribly stern. Nor did her fears prove groundless. “Now, Missy,” ordered her mother in coldly irate tones, “you take that horse straight back to Tess. This is the last straw! For days you've been no earthly use--your practicing neglected, no time for your chores, just nothing but that everlasting horse!” That everlasting horse! Missy's chin quivered and her eyes filled. But mother went on inflexibly: “I don't want you ever to bring it here again. And you can't go on living at Tess's, either! We'll see that you catch up with your practicing.”