Missy gazed down at herself. It WAS swagger, she assured herself. It must be swagger--Tess said so. Almost as swagger, Tess asseverated, as the riding outfit worn by Miss Valerie Jones who was the swaggerest member of Macon City's swaggerest young set. Yet, despite her assurance of swaggerness, she was conscious of a certain uneasiness. She knew she shouldn't feel embarrassed; she should feel only swagger. But she couldn't help a sense of awkwardness, almost of distaste; her legs felt--and LOOKED--so queer! So conspicuous! The upper halves of them were clothed in two separate envelopments of pepper-and-salt material, gathered very full and puffy over the hips but drawn in tightly toward the knee in a particularly swagger fashion. Below the knee the swagger tight effect was sustained by a pair of long buttoned “leggings.” “You're sure these leggings look all right?” she demanded anxiously. “Of course they look all right! They look fine!” “I wish we had some boots,” with a smothered sigh. “Well, they don't ALWAYS wear boots. Lots of 'em in Macon City only wore puttees. And puttees are only a kind of leggings.” “They're so tight,” complained the horsewoman. “My legs have got a lot fatter since--” Thrusting out one of the mentioned members in a tentative kick, she was interrupted by the popping of an already overstrained button. “SEE!” she finished despondently. “I SAID they were too tight.” “You oughtn't to kick around that way,” reproved Tess. “No wonder it popped off. Now, I'll have to hunt for a safety-pin--” “I don't want a safety-pin!--I'd rather let it flop.” The horsewoman continued to survey herself dubiously, took in the bright scarlet sweater which formed the top part of her costume. The girls had first sought a more tailored variety of coat, but peres Merriam and O'Neill were both, selfishly, very large men; Tess had brilliantly bethought the sweater--the English always wore scarlet for hunting, anyway. Missy then had warmly applauded the inspiration, but now her warmth was literal rather than figurative; it was a hot day and the sweater was knitted of heavy wool. She fingered her stock collar--one of Mrs. O'Neill's guest towels--and tried to adjust her derby more securely. “Your father has an awfully big head,” she commented. “Oh, they always wear their hats way down over their ears.” Then, a little vexed at this necessity for repeated reassurance, Tess broke out irritably: “If you don't want to wear the get-up, say so! I'LL wear it! I only let you wear it first trying to be nice to you!” Then Missy, who had been genuinely moved by Tess's decision that the first wearing of the costume should make up for her chum's week of punishment, pulled herself together. “Of course I want to wear it,” she declared. “I think it's just fine of you to let me wear it first.”