Yes, even school was interesting. However, summertime was best, although then you must practice your music lesson two hours instead of one a day, dust the sitting room, and mind the baby. But you could spend long, long hours in the summerhouse, reading poetry out of the big Anthology and-this a secret-writing poetry yourself! It was heavenly to write poetry. Something soft and warm seemed to ooze through your being as you sat out there and watched the sorrow of a drab, drab sky; or else, on a bright day, a big shining cloud aloft like some silver-gold fairy palace and, down below, the smell of warm, new-cut grass, and whispers of little live things everywhere! It was then that you felt you'd have died if you couldn't have written poetry! It was on such a lilting day of June, and Melissa's whole being in tune with it, that she was called in to the midday dinner-and received the invitation. Father had brought it from the post office and handed it to her with exaggerated solemnity. “For Miss Melissa Merriam,” he announced. Yes! there was her name on the tiny envelope. And, on the tiny card within, written in a painstaking, cramped hand: Mr. Raymond Bonner At Home Wednesday June Tenth R.S.V.P. 8 P.M. With her whole soul in her mouth, which made it quite impossible to speak, she passed the card to her mother and waited. “Oh,” said mother, “an evening party.” Melissa's soul dropped a trifle: it still clogged her throat, but she was able to form words. “Oh, mother!” “You KNOW you're not to ask to go to evening parties, Missy.” Mother's tone was as firm as doom. Missy turned her eyes to father. “Don't look at me with those big saucers!” he smiled. “Mother's the judge.” So Missy turned her eyes back again. “Mother, PLEASE-” But mother shook her head. “You're too young to begin such things, Missy. I don't know what this town's coming to--mere babies running round at night, playing cards and dancing!” “But, mother--” “Don't start teasing, Missy. It won't do any good.” So Missy didn't start teasing, but her soul remained choking in her throat. It made it difficult for her to swallow, and nothing tasted good, though they had lamb chops, which she adored. “Eat your meat, Missy,” adjured mother. Missy tried to obey and felt that she was swallowing lumps of lead. But in the afternoon everything miraculously changed. Kitty Allen and her mother came to call. Kitty was her chum, and lived in the next block, up the hill. Kitty was beautiful, with long curls which showed golden glints in the sun. She had a whim that she and Missy, sometimes, should have dresses made exactly alike-for instance, this summer, their best dresses of pink dotted mull. Missy tried to enjoy the whim with Kitty, but she couldn't help feeling sad at seeing how much prettier Kitty could look in the same dress. If only she had gold-threaded curls!