There was nothing for Missy to do but go and try to obey. She took tablet and pencil out to the summerhouse, where it was always inspiringly quiet and beautiful; she also took along the big blue-bound Anthology from the living-room table--an oft-tapped fount; but even reading poetry didn't seem able to lift her to the creative mood. And you have to be in the mood before you can create, don't you? Missy felt this necessity vaguely but strongly; but she couldn't get it across to mother. And even worse than mother's reproaches was when father finally gave her a “talking to”; father was a big, wise, but usually silent man, so that when he did speak his words seemed to carry a double force. Missy's young friends were apt to show a little awe of father, but she knew he was enormously kind and sympathetic. Long ago--oh, years before--when she was a little girl, she used to find it easier to talk to him than to most grown-ups; about all kinds of unusual things--the strange, mysterious, fascinating thoughts that come to one. But lately, for some reason, she had felt more shy with father. There was much she feared he mightn't understand--or, perhaps, she feared he might understand. So, in this rather unsympathetic domestic environment, the class Valedictorian, with the kindling of her soul all laid, so to speak, uneasily awaited the divine spark. It was hard to maintain an easy assumption that all was well; especially after the affair of the hats got under way. Late in April Miss Ackerman, the Domestic Science teacher, had organized a special night class in millinery which met, in turns, at the homes of the various members. The girls got no “credit” for this work, but they seemed to be more than compensated by the joy of creating, with their own fingers, new spring hats which won them praise and admiration. Kitty Allen's hat was particularly successful. It was a white straw “flat,” faced and garlanded with blue. Missy looked at its picturesque effect, posed above her “best friend's” piquantly pretty face, with an envy which was augmented by the pardonable note of pride in Kitty's voice as she'd say: “Oh, do you really like it?--I made it myself, you know.” If only she, Missy, might taste of this new kind of joy! She was not a Domestic Science girl; but, finally, she went to Miss Ackermanand--oh,rapture!--obtained permission to enter the millinery class. However, there was still the more difficult matter of winning mother's consent. As Missy feared, Mrs. Merriam at once put on her disapproving look. “No, Missy. You've already got your hands full. Have you started the thesis yet?”