“Peter, you should be ashamed of yourself!” reproved his grandmother. “She's a scream!” he insisted. “Religious! That kid!” “Well,” defended Missy, timid and puzzled, but wounded to unwonted bravery, “isn't it proper to feel like that on the Sabbath?” Pete shouted again. “Peter--stop that! You should be ashamed of yourself!” It was his grandfather this time. Grandpa moved over to the piano and removed the rag-time from off the hymnal, pausing to pat Missy on the head. But Peter was not the age to be easily squelched. “What does it feel like, Missy--the religious feeling?” Missy, her eyes bright behind their blur, didn't answer. Indeed, she could not have defined that sweetly sad glow, now so cruelly crushed, even had she wanted to. Missy didn't enjoy her dinner as much as she usually did the midday Sunday feasts when grandpa and grandma came to eat with them. She felt embarrassed and shy. Of course she had to answer when asked why she wasn't eating her drumstick, and whether the green apples in grandma's orchard had given her an “upset,” and other direct questions; but when she could, she kept silent. She was glad Pete didn't talk to her much. Yet, now and then, she caught his eyes upon her in a look of sardonic enquiry, and quickly averted her own. Her unhappiness lasted till the visitors had departed. Then, after aimlessly wandering about, she took her Holy Bible out to the summerhouse. She was contemplating a surprise for grandpa and grandma. Next week mother and Aunt Nettie were going over to Aunt Anna's in Junction City for a few days; during their absence Missy was to stay with her grandparents. And to surprise them, she was learning by heart a whole Psalm. She planned to spring it upon them the first night at family prayers. At grandma's they had prayers every night before going to bed. First grandpa read a long chapter out of the Holy Bible, then they all knelt down, grandpa beside his big Morris chair, grandma beside her little willow rocker, and whoever else was present beside whatever chair he'd been sitting in. Grandpa prayed a long prayer; grandma a shorter one; then, if any of the grandchildren were there, they must say a verse by heart. Missy's first verse had been, “Jesus wept.” But she was just a tiny thing then. When she grew bigger, she repeated, “Suffer the little children to come unto Me.” Later she accomplished the more showy, “In My Father's house are many mansions; I go there to prepare a place for you.” But this would be her first whole Psalm. She pictured every one's delighted and admiring surprise. After much deliberation she had decided upon the Psalm in which David sings his song of faith, “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.” How beautiful it was! So deep and so hard to understand, yet, somehow, all the more beautiful for that. She murmured aloud, “I will fear no evil--for Thou art with me--Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me”; and wondered what the rod and staff really were.