“I don't deserve it,” said Missy humbly.
“You bet you don't!” acquiesced Pete.
So even he recognized her state of sin! Her Great Resolve intensified.
That morning, for the first time in her life at grandma's house, Missy shirked her “chores.” She found paper and pencil, took a small Holy Bible, and stole back to the tool-house where grandpa kept his garden things and grandma her washtubs. For that which she now was to do, Missy would have preferred the more beautiful summerhouse at home; but grandma had no summerhouse, and this offered the only sure seclusion.
She stayed out there a long time, seated on an upturned washtub; read the Holy Bible for awhile; then became absorbed in the ecstasies of composition. So engrossed was she that she didn't at first hear grandma calling her.
Grandma was impatiently waiting on the back porch.
“What in the world are you doing out there?” she demanded.
Loath to lie, now, Missy made a compromise with her conscience.
“I was reading the Holy Bible, grandma.”
Grandma's expression softened; and all she said was: