“But, mother,” tremulously seeking for an argument, “I oughtn't to give up such a fine chance to become a horsewoman, ought I?” It was an unlucky phrase, for Aunt Nettie was there to catch it up. “A horsewoman!” and she laughed in sardonic glee. “Well, I must admit there's one thing horsey enough about you--you always smell of manure, these days.” Wounded and on the defensive, Missy tried to make her tone chilly. “I wish you wouldn't be so indelicate, Aunt Nettie,” she said. But Aunt Nettie wasn't abashed. “A horsewoman!” she chortled again. “I suppose Missy sees herself riding to hounds! All dressed up in a silk hat and riding-breeches like pictures of society people back East!” It didn't add to Missy's comfiture to know she had, in truth, harboured this ridiculed vision of herself. She coloured and stood hesitant. “Someone ought to put pants on that O'Neill girl, anyway,” continued Aunt Nettie with what seemed to her niece unparallelled malice. “Helen Alison says the Doctor saw her out in the country riding astraddle. Her mother ought to spank her.” Mother looked at Missy sharply. “Don't let me ever hear of YOU doing anything like that!” Missy hung her head, but luckily mother took it for just a general attitude of dejection. “I can't tolerate tomboys.” she went on. “I can't imagine what's come over you lately.” “It's that O'Neill girl,” said Aunt Nettie. Mother sighed; Missy couldn't know she was lamenting the loss of her sweet, shy, old-fashioned little girl. But when she spoke next her accents were firm. “Now you go and take that horse home. But come straight back and get to bed so you can get an early start at your practicing in the morning. Right here I'm going to put my foot down. It isn't because I want to be harsh--but you never seem to know when to stop a thing. It's all well and good to be fond of dumb animals, but when it comes to a point where you can think of nothing else--” The outstanding import of the terrific and unjust tirade was that Missy should not go near the sanitarium or the pony for a week. When mother “put her foot down” like that, hope was gone, indeed. And a whole week! That was a long, long time when hope is deferred--especially when one is fifteen and all days are long. At first Missy didn't see how she was ever to live through the endless period, but, strangely enough, the dragging days brought to her a change of mood. It is odd how the colour of our mood, so to speak, can utterly change; how one day we can desire one kind of thing acutely and then, the very next day, crave something quite different.