With eyes which were shining with many emotions, the man and girl, over her head, regarded each other. It was the man who spoke first, slowing down the car as he did so. “Don't you think we'd better run back to Miss Martin's and get it?” For answer, his sweetheart leaned across Missy and kissed him. A fifteen minutes' delay, and again the Ford was headed towards Somerville and the County Courthouse; but now an additional passenger, a big brown box, was hugged between Missy's knees. In the County Courthouse she did not forget to guard this box tenderly all the time Young Doc and Miss Princess were scurrying around musty offices, interviewing important, shirt-sleeved men, and signing papers--not even when she herself was permitted to sign her name to an imposing document, “just for luck,” as Doc laughingly said. Then he bent his head to hear what Miss Princess wanted to whisper to him, and they both laughed some more; and then he said something to the shirtsleeved men, and they laughed; and then--O, it is a wonderful world!--Miss Princess took her into a dusty, paper-littered inner office, lifted the Pink Dress out of the box, dressed Missy up in it, fluffed out the “wave” in her front hair, and exclaimed that she was the loveliest little flower-girl in the whole world. “Even without the flower-hat and the pink stockings?” “Even without the flower-hat and the pink stockings,” said Miss Princess with such assurance that Missy cast off doubt forever. After the Wedding--and never in Romance was such a gay, laughing Wedding--when again they were all packed in the Ford, Missy gave a contented sigh. “I kind of knew it,” she confided. “For I dreamed it all, two nights running. Both times I had on the Pink Dress, and both times it was Doc. I'm so happy it's Doc.” And over her head the other two looked in each other's eyes. CHAPTER III. LIKE A SINGING BIRD She was fourteen, going on fifteen; and the world was a fascinating place. There were people who found Cherryvale a dull, poky little town to live in, but not Melissa. Not even in winter, when school and lessons took up so much time that it almost shut out reading and the wonderful dreams which reading is bound to bring you. Yet even school-especially high school the first year-was interesting. The more so when there was a teacher like Miss Smith, who looked too pretty to know so much about algebra and who was said to get a letter every day from a lieutenant-in the Philippines! Then there was ancient history, full of things fascinating enough to make up for algebra and physics. But even physics becomes suddenly thrilling at times. And always literature! Of course “grades” were bothersome, and sometimes you hated to show your monthly report to your parents, who seemed to set so much store by it; and sometimes you almost envied Beulah Crosswhite, who always got an A and who could ask questions which disconcerted even the teachers.