“Did you bring it home?” brightening at a thought.
“Bring what home?” asked father.
“Why, the candy.”
“Of course not.”
“I don't see why, if you had to pay for it. The bottom part wasn't hurt at all.”
Father laughed then, actually laughed. She was glad to see the serious look removed from his face; but she still begrudged all that candy.
Nor was that the end of the part played by the candy. That night, as she was kneeling in her nightgown by the window, gazing out at the white moonlight and trying to summon the lovely thoughts the night's magic used to bring, the door opened softly and mother came tiptoeing in.
“You ought to be in bed, dear,” she said. No, Missy reflected, she could never, never be really cross with mother. She climbed into bed and, with a certain degree of comfort, watched mother smooth up the sheet and fold the counterpane carefully over the foot-rail.
“Mrs. O'Neill just phoned,” mother said. “Tess is very sick. It seems she and Arthur got hold of that bucket of candy.”
“Oh,” said Missy.