ETHEL HUESTON
(Copyright, by the Bobbs-Merrill Company.)
SYNOPSIS.
CHAPTER I—Prudence Stnrr, eldest of
five motherless Kiris, comes to the Meth
odist parsonage at Mount Mark, as house
mother for her father, the Methodist min
ister.
CHAPTER II—The girls entertain a vis
iting minister at luncheon, to his discom
fiture. Carol, one of the twins, rides the
family cow with disastrous results.
CHAPTER III—Prudence and Fairy re
ceive the Indies' Aid society while Eark,
Carol and Connie practice modeling in
mud on the dining rutim table.
CHAPTER IV- The twins prepare Con
dance for initiation into their private
secret society witli results unexpected to
themselves.
CHAPTER V—When Fairy entertains
Eugene Uubler in the evening, the twins
convince Prudence ilial etiquette lias small
place in the Starr family.
CHAPTER VI—Connie practices econ
omy by borrowing $5 from one of the
trustees to buy a new i loak and un
Oonsciously teaches the church pillars a
lesson.
CHAPTER VII—Prudence captures a
burglar and wins $600 reward.
CHAPTER VIII — Prudence takes an
early morning bicycle jaunt and rides in
to a mule, a sprained ankle and a ro
mance. Tlie knight of romance is Jerrold
I farmer.
CHAPTER IX—When Prudence Is
brought home Father Starr reads the
girl's awakened heart in her actions and
his own heart is heavy.
CHAPTER X—Jerry visits the parson- 1
ag» and irankly tells Mr. Starr he in
tends to win Prudence.
CHAPTER XI—After a golden summer
Prtidenre consents to marry Jerry only to
send him away for ever the next morning
when she re members, her duty to her fa
ther^ and sisters.
_
CHAPTER XII.
PFT*' -
She Comes to Grief.
Fairy was one of those buoyant, 1
warm-blooded girls to whom sleep is
Indeed the great restorer. Now she
stood in tho kitchen door, tall, cheeks
glowing, eyes sparkling, and smiled at
her sister's solemn hack.
“You are the little mousey, I’rue,”
she said, in her full rich voice. "I
didn’t hear you come to bed last night,
and I didn't hear you getting out this |
morning. Why, what is the matter?-’
For l'rudence had turned her face to
ward her sister, and it was so white
and so unnatural that Fairy was
shocked.
“l’rudence! You tire sick! Go to
bed and let me get breakfast. Here,
get out of this, and I will—”
“There’s nothing the matter with me.
I hud ti headache, and did not sleep,
hut I am till right now. Are the girls
up yet?”
Fairy eyed her suspiciously. “.Terry
is out unusually early, too, isn’t he?
liis door is open."
“Terry has gone, Fairy.’' Prudence’s
back was presented to view once more,
und Prudence was stirring tlie oatmeal
with vicious energy. "He left early
this morning i suppose lie is half-way
to 1 >es Moines by now.”
“Oil!" Fairy’s voice was noncom
mittal. “When is lie coming hack?"
“lie isn’t coming hack. Please
hurry. Fairy, and call the others. The
oatmeal is ready."
fairy went soberly tip the stairs.,
ostensibly to call her sisters.
“Girls," she began, carefully closing
the door of their room behind her.
“Terry lias gone, and isn’t coming hack
any more. And for goodness’ sake,
don’t keep asking questions about it.
.lust eat your breakfast as usual, and
have a little tact."
“A lovers’ quarrel,” suggested Lark,
her eyes glittered greedily.
“Nothing of llit* sort. And don t keep
staring at I’rue, either. And do not
keep talking about Jerry all the time.
You mind me, or 1 will tell papa.”
“That’s funhy,” said Carol thought
fully. "We saw them kissing each other
like mad in the hack yard last night —
and this morning he has gone to return
no more. They are crazy.”
“Kissing! In the hack yard! What
are you talking about?’
Carol explained, and Fairy looked
• still more thoughtful and perturbed.
She opened the door, and called out
to them in a loud and breezy voice:
“Hurry, girls, for breakfast is ready,
and there's no time to waste in a par
sonage on Sunday morning.” Then she
added in a w hisper, “And don t you
mention Jerry, and don’t ask Prudence
what makes her so pale, or you'll catch
it!”
Then she went to her father’s door.
“Breakfast is ready, p pa,” she called
clearly. She turned the knob softly,
and peeped in. “May 1 come in a min
ute?” Standing /lose beside him, she
told him all she knew of what had hap
pened.
“Prudence is ghastly, father, just
ghastly. And she can’t talk about it
yet, so be careful what you say, will
you?”
And it was due to Fairy’s kindly ad
monitions that the parsonage family
took the departure of Jerry so calmly.
That was the beginning of Prudence's
hitter winter, when the brightest sun
shine “v's cheerless and dreary and
when even the laughter of bet sisters
smote harshly Upon her ears. She tried
to he as always, but in her eyes the
wounded look lingered, and her face
grew so pale and thin that her father
find Fairy, anxiously watching, wore
filled with grave concern. She re
mained almost constantly in the par
sonage, reading vry little, sitting most
of her leisure time staring out the win
dows.
Fairy had tried to win her confi
dence, and had failed.
“You are a 'ailing, Fairy, hut 1 real
ly do not want to talk about it. Oh.
no, indeed, it is all niv own fault. I
told Him to go, and not come again.
No, you are wrong, Fairy, I do not re
gret it. i do not want him to come any
more.”
Mr. Starr, too, had tried. “Prudence.”
le said gently, “you know very often
nen do tilings that to women seem
wrong and wicked. And mayhe they
ire; I5ut men and women tire differ
ent by nature, my dear, and we mast
•emeruber that. I have satisfied myself
hut .Terry is good, and clean, and tnan
y. I do not think you should let any
foolishness of his in the past come be
tween you now.”
“You are mistaken, father. Jerry is
all right, and always was, i am sure.
It is nothing like that. 1 told him to
go, and not to come again. That is
all.”
‘T>ut if he should come hack now—”
"It would lie just tiie same. 'Don’t
worry about it, father. It’s nil right. ’
“Prudence,” he said, more tenderly,
“we have been the closest of friends
tnd companions, you and I, from the
eery beginning. Alw ays you have come
to me with your troubles and worries.
Have 1 ever failed you? Why, then,
do you go hack on me now, when you
really need me?”
Prudence patted his shoulder affec
tionately, hut her eyes did not meet
his. “I do not really need you now,
father. It is all settled, and 1 am quite
satisfied. Things are till right with me
just as they are.”
Then he took a serious stop, without
her knowledge.. He went to l>es
Moines, and had a visit with Jerry, lie
found him thinner, his face sterner,
his eyes darker. When the office boy
announced “Mr. Starr,” Jerry ran
quickly out to greet him.
“Is she nil right?” lie cried eagerly,
almost before he wus within huiling
distance.
Mr. Starr did not mince matters.
“Jerry,” he said abruptly, “did youtlaid
l’rudence have a quarrel? She de
clines to tell me anything about it, and
after the conversations you and 1 have
had, I think I have u right to know
what 1ms happened.”
“Does she miss me? Does she seem
sorry that I am away? Does—” llis
voice was so boyish and so eager there
was no mistaking his attitude toward
I’rudence.
“Look here, Jerry, I want to know.
Why are you staying away?”
“Won't Prudence tell you?"
“No.”
“Then I cannot. She made me prom
ise not to tell you a word. But it is
not my fault, Mr. Starr. 1 can tell you
that. It is nothing I have done or said.
She sent me away because she thinks
it was right for her to do so, and—you
know Prudence! It is wrong, I know,
t knew it all the time. But I couldn’t
make her see it. And she made me
promise not to tell.”
In the end Mr. Starr went back to
the parsonage no wiser than he left,
save that he now knew that Jerry was
really not to blame, and that he held
himself reffdy to return to her on a
moment's notice.
The Ladies of the Methodist church
were puzzled and exasperated. They
went to the parsonage, determined to
“lind out what's what." But when lh< »
sat with Prudence, and looked tit tlie
frail, pathetic little figure, with the
mournful eyes—they could only sigh
with her and go their ways.
The twins continued to piny in me
great maple, even when the leaves
were fallen. “It's a dandy place. 1
tell you. rrudenee,” cried Carol. “Jer
ry didn't have time to put up the rope
before Connie pulled him down, hut
we’ve fixed it ourselves, and it is sim
ply grand. You can go up and swing
any time you like—unless your joints
are too stiff! It's a very serious mat
ter getting up there—for stiff joints,
. I course, I mean. Lark and I get up
easy enough.”
For a moment Prudence sat silent
with quivering lips. Then she hurst
out with unusual passion, “I ain't you
ever dare climb that tree again as
long as you live, twins! Mind what
I say!”
Lark looked thoughtfully out of the
window, and Carol swallowed haul.
It was she who said gently, “Why, of
course, l’rue—just as you say.”
On the day before Christinas an in
sured package was delivered at the
parsonage for Prudence. A letter was
with it, and she read that first.
“My dearest little sweetheart: I
Chose this gift for you long before I
imd the right to do it. I was keeping
it until the proper moment. Hut the
moment came, and went again. Sti !
1 want y u to have the gilt. Pleas •
wear it. for my sake, for 1 shall If
happy knowing it is where it ought to
he, cicti thou-h. I uuself am liauisic1'.
I love you, Prudence. Whenever you
send for me, I am ready to come. En
tirely and always yours, Jerry.”
With trembling fingers she opened
the little package, It contained a ring,
with a brilliant diamond flashing my
riad colors before her eyes. Aral Pru
dence kissed it passionately, many
times.
Two hours later, she went quietly
downstairs to where the rest of the
[family were decorating a Christinas
tree. She showed the ring to them
gravely.
“Jerry sent it to me,” she said. “Do
you think it is all right for me to wear
it, father?"
A thrill of hopeful expectancy ran
through the little group.
“Yes. indeed,” declared her father.
“Tlpw beautiful it is: is Jerry coming
to spend Christmas with us?”
“Why, no, father— he is not coming
at all any more. 1 thought you under
stood that.”
\n awkward silence, nrul t’arol came
brightly to the rescue. “It certainly is
a beauty! 1 thought it was very kind
of Professor Duekie to send Lark and
nit* a live-pound box of chocolates, but
of course this is ever so much nicer.
Jerry’s a bird, I say.”
“A bird!” mocked Fairy. “Such lan
guage.
Lark came to her twin’s defense.
“Yes, a bird—that’s just what tie is.”
Carol smiled. “We saw him use his
wings when Connie yanked him out of
the tiig maple, didn’t we. Lark?” Then,
“Did you send him anything, Prue?”
Prudence hesitated, and answered
without the slightest accession of col
or, “Yes, Carol. 1 had my picture
taken when I was in Burlington, and
sent it to him.”
“Your picture! Oh, Prudence!
Where are they? Aren’t you goiug to
give us one?”
“No. Carol. I had only one made—
for Jerry. There aren’t any more.”
“Well,” sighed Lark resignedly. “It’s
a pretty idea for my book, anyhow.”
From that -day on Prudence always
wore the sparkling ring—and the wom
en of the Methodist church nearly had
mental paralysis marveling over a
man who gave a diamond ring and
never came a-wooing! And a girl who
accepted and wore his offering, with
nothing to say for the man! And it
was the consensus of opinion in Mount
Shirk that modern lovers were mostly
crazy, anyhow!
And springtime came again.
Now the twins were always original
in their amusements. They never fol
lowed blindly after tDo dictates of cus
tom. And when other girls pliiyed
“catch” with dainty rubber balls, the
twins took unto themselves a big and
And Springtime Came Again.
heavy croquet hall—found in the Avery
woodshed. To he sure, it stung and
bruised their hands. What matter? At
any rate, they continued endangering
their lives and beauties by reckless
pitching of the ungainly plaything.
One Friday evening after school
they were amusing themselves on the
parsonage lawn with this huge ball.
When their father turned in, they ran
aii to him with a sporting proposition.
“l’.et yon a nickel, papa,” cried
Carol, “that you can’t throw this ball
as far as the school house woodshed!—
I '.\ the way, will you lend me a nickel,
pupil?”
He took the hall and weighed it light
ly in his hand. “I’m tin anti-betting
society,” he declared, laughing, “but 1
very strongly believe it will carry to
the sehoolhouse woodshed. If it does
not. I'll give you five cents’ worth of
candy tomorrow. And if it does, you
shall put an extra nickel in the collec
tion next Sunday.”
*Theit he drew back his arm and care
fully sighted across the lawn. “I'll
end it right between the corner of the
muse and that little cedar," he said,
and then, bending low, it whizzed from
ids hand.
Lark screamed, and Carol sank faint
'Ug to the ground. For an instant Mr.
Starr himself stood swaying. Then lie
rushed across the lawn. For Prudence
hud opened the front door and stepped
quickly nut on the walk by the corner
if the house. The heavy ball struck
her on the forehead and she fell heav
ily. without a moan.
CHAPTER XIII.
Fate Takes Charge.
For hours Prudence lay unconscious,
with two doctors in close attendance.
• airy, alert but calm, was at hand to
HU.*; tin;i'- cice. * - --
ii is a significant thing that in bitter
anguish and grief. Christians find com
fort and peace in prayer. Outsiders, as
well as Christians, pray in times of
danger and mental stress, pray, and
pray, and pray again, and continue
still in the agony and passion of grief
and fear. And yet they pray. Hut
Christians pray, and find confidence
and serenity. Sorrow may remain, but
anguish is stilled.
Mount Mark considered this a unique
parsonage family. Their liveliness,
their guyety, their love of fun, seemed
a little inapropos in the setting of a
Methodist parsonage.
“They ain't sanctimonious enough
hy half,” declared old Harvey Reel, the
bus driver, “but, hy Jings! I tell you
they are dandies!”
But as a matter of fact, every one
ot the family, from Connie up, had a
characteristic parsonage heart. When
they were worried, or frightened, 01
grieved, they prayed. Fairy passing
up the stairs with hot water for the
doctors, whispered to her father as lie
turned in to his own room, "Keep on
praying, father. I can’t stop now, be
en use they need me. But I’m praying
every minute between errands!” And
Mr. Starr, kneeling beside his bed, did
pray—and the stony despair in his
eyes died out, and he came from the
little room quiet, and confident, and
calm.
Connie, seeking a secluded corner
to “pray for Prudence,” had passed the
door of the dungeon, and paused. A
fitting place! So she turned in at
once, and in the farthest and darkest
corner, she knelt "on the hard floor and
prayed, and sobbed herself to sleep.
Lark remained loyally with Carol
until consciousness returned to her. As
soon as she was able to walk, tiie two
went silently to the barn, and climbed
into tiie much-loved haymow. There
they lay fiat on the buy, faces down-*
ward, eacli with an arm across tiie
other’s shoulder, praying fervently.
After a time they rose and crept into
tlie house where they waited patiently
until Fairy cutne down on one of her
numerous errands.
“Is she better?” they whispered. And
Fairy answered gently, “I think she is
u little better.” Then the twins, in no
way deceived, went buck to the hay
mow again.
Fairy prepared a hasty supper, and
arranged it on the kitchen table. She
drank a cup of hot coffee, and went in
search of her father. "Go and eat,
dadsle,” she urged. But he shook liis
head.
j am not nungry, nut seuu me gins
to the table at ouee.”
On tluir next trip Into the house.
Fairy stopped the twins. “Get Connie
and eat your supper, it’s just a cold
I lunch, and is already on the kitchen
! table. You must help yourselves—1
can’t come now.”
The twins did not speak, and Fairy
went hurriedly up the stairs once more.
“1 do not think 1 can eat.” said Carol.
“We’d better take away about half
of this food, and hide it. Then she will
think we have already eaten.”
This novel plan was acted upon with
promptitude and the twins went back
to the haymow. When it grew dark
they slipped into the kitchen and hud
dled together on the woodbox beside
the stove. And down to them present
ly came Fairy, smiling, her eyes tear
brightened.
“She is better!” cried Carol, spring
ing to her feet.
“Yes,” said Fairy, dropping on her
knees and burying her face in Lark's
lap, as she still sat on the woodbox.
“She’s better. She is better.” Lark
patted the heaving shoulders in a
motherly way, and when Fairy lifted
iter face again it was nil serene,
though her lashes were wet.
“She is conscious,” said Fairy, still
on her knees, but with her head
thrown back, and smiling. “Site re
gained consciousness a little while
ago. There is really nothing serious
the matter. It was a hard knock, but
It missed the temple. When she be
came conscious, she looked up at fa
ther and smiled. Father looked per
fectly awful, twins, so pnlo, and his
lips were trembling. And Prudence
said. 'Now, father, on your word of
honor, did you knock me down with
that ball on purpose?’ She spoke very
low and weak, but—-just like Pru
dence! Father couldn’t say a word;
he just nodded, and gulped. She has
a little fever, and the doctors say we
may need to work with her part of
the night. Father said to ask if you
would go to bed now, so you can get
up early in the morning and help ns.
T am to stay with Prudence tonight,
hut you may have to take turns in the
morning. And you'll have to get break
fast, too. So father thinks you would
better go to bed. Will you do that,
twirmies?”
“Will we!” Anti Carol added, “Will
you kiss Prudence pood night for us,
and tell her we kept praying nil the
time? Prudence Is such a great hand
for praying, you know.”
Fairy promised, and the twins crept
upstairs. It was dark in their room.
“We’ll undress in the dark so as not
to awake poor little Connie," whis
pered Lark. “It’s nice she can sleep
like that, isn’t it?”
And the twins went to bed, and fell
asleep after a while, never doubting
that Connie, in her corner ol the room,
was already safe and happy in the ob
livion of slumber.
P.nt poor Connie! She had not wak
ened when Fairy closed the dungeon
door. It was long afterward when she
sat up and began rubbing her eyes.
She did not know where she was. Then
she remembered! She wondered if
Prudence— She scrambled to her
feet, and trotted over to the dungeon
door. It was looked; she could not
turn the knoh. At first she thought of
scp-annlng u.ui! i.JUU<iiftg uu the- door.
“Rut tlisit will arouse Prudence,-and
frighten her. and maybe kill her,” she
thought wretchedly. “I’ll just keep
1 -dill until someone passes.”
Rut no one passed for a long time,
and Connie stretched her aching body
nnd sobbed, worrying about Prudence,
fearful on her own account. She had
no idea of the time. She supposed it
was still early. And the parsonage
was denihl.v quiet. Maybe Prudence
had died I Connie writhed in agony
m the hard floor, and sobbed bitterly,
'■dill she would not risk pounding on
llie dungeon door.
Upstairs, in tne front room. Prudence
was wrestling with fever. Higher nnd
ilgher it rose, until the doctors looked
,-ery anxious. They held a brief con
niltatiori in the corner of the room.
Then they beckoned to Mr. Starr.
“Has Prudence bc°n worrying about
something liiis winter?”
“Yes, she has.”
“It is that young man, isn’t it?” In
quired the family doctor—a Methodist
“member.”
“Yes.”
"Can you* bring hiin here?”
“Yes—as soon as lie can get here
from lies Moines.”
“You’d better do it. She has worn
herself down nearly to the point of
prostration. We think we can break
this fever without serious conse
quences, but get tlio young man as soon
as possible. She cannot re’ax and rest
until siie gets relief.”
So he went downstairs and over the
telephone dictated a short message to
Jerry: "Please come—Prudence.”
When he entered the front bedroom
again, Prudence was muttering unin
telligible words under her breath. He
kneeled down beside the bed and put
his arms around her. She clung to him
with sudden passion.
“Jerry ! Jerry!” she cried. Iler fa
ther caressed and petted her, but did
not speak.
“Oh, I can’t,” she cried again. “I
can’t, Jerry, 1 can't!” Again her voice
fell to low mumbling. “Yes, go. Go at
once. 1 p-omised, you know. They
haven’t any mother — I promised.
Jerry 1 Jerry 1” Then, panting, she
fell hack on the pillows.
Rut Mr. Starr smiled gently to him
self. So that was the answer! Oh,
foolish little Prudence! Oh, sweet
hearted little martyr girl!
Hours later the fever broke and
Prudence drifted into a deep sleep.
But Mr. Starr Smiled Gently to Him
self.
Then the doctors wont downstairs with
Mr. Starr, talking in quiet, ordinary
| tones.
••( Hi, she Is all right now, no danger
| at all. She’ll do tine. Let her sleep.
Send Fairy to lied, too. Keep Prudence
quiet a few days—that's all. She's all
| right.”
They did not hear the timid knock
at the dungeon door. But after they
had gone out, Mr. Starr locked the
door behind them, and started back
through the hall to see if the kitchen
doors were locked. He distinctly
heard a soft tapping, and he smiled.
“Mice!” he thought. Then lie heard
something else—a faintly whispered
: "Father!”
With a sharp exclamation he un
locked and opened the dungeon door.
I and Connie fell into his arms, sobbing
piteously. And he did the only wise
tiling to do under the circumstances.
He sat down on the hall Hoor and
cuddled the child against his breast,
lie talked to her soothingly until the
sobs quieted, and her voice was under
control.
i "Now,, tell father,” he urged, “how
did you get in the dungeon? The
twins—”
“Oh, no, father, of course not; the
twins wouldn’t do such a thing as
that. 1 went into tIn* dungeon to pray
that Prudence would get well. And 1
prayed myself to sleep. When I woke
up the door was locked."
"But you precious child,” he whis
pered, “wlty didn't you call out, oi
pound on tlie door?”
“1 was afraid it would excite Prue
and make her worse,” she answered
! simply. And her father’s kiss was un
wontedly tender us he carried her up
stairs to bed.
Prudence slept late the next morn
ing. and when she opened her eyes her
father was sitting beside her.
"All right this morning, father,” site
said, smiling. “Are the girls at
school ?”
"No, this is Saturday.”
“Oh, of course. Well, bring them
Up. I to see them '*
'Just theu the distant whistle of a
locomotive sounded through the open
window, hut she did not notice her fa
ther's sudden start. She nodded up at
him again and repeated, “I want to see
my girls.”
Her fnther sent them up to her at
cnee, and they stood at the foot of the
ted with sorry faces, and smiled at
tier.
'‘Say something,” whispered Carol,
♦Vking Lark suggestively on the foot,
tftft Lark was dumb. It was Carol
*,ho broke the silence.
“Oh, Prudence, do you suppose the
doctors will let me come in and watch
them bandage your head? I want to
begin practicing up, so as to be ready
for the next war.”
Then they laughed, and the girls
realized that Prudence wns really
alive and quite as always. They told
her of Connie's sad experience, and
Prudence comforted her sweetly.
“It Just proves all over ngain,” she
declared, smiling, but with a sigh
close following, “that you can’t get
along without me to look after you.
Would I ever go to bed without mak
ing sure that Coante was safe and
Bound?”
Downstair*, meanwhile, Mr. Starr
was plotting with Fairy, a willing as
sistant.
“He’ll surely be In on this train, and
you must keep him down here until I
pet through with Prudence. I want to
tell her a few things before she sees
him. Bring him In quietly, and don't
let him speak loudly. I do not want
her to know he Is en hand for a few
minutes. Explain it to the girls, will
you?”
After sending the younger girls
downstairs aguln, he closed the door
of Prudence’s room, and sat down be
side her.
“Prudence. I can’t tell you how bit
terly disappointed I am In you.”
"Father!”
“Yes, I thought you loved us—the
girls and me. It never occurred to me
that you considered us a bunch of self
ish, heartless, ungrateful unimals!”
“Father!”
“Is that your idea of love? Is that
Oh, father!”
‘It really did hurt me, Prudence. My
dear little girl, how could you send
Jerry away, breaking your heart and
bis, and ours, too—Just because 'you
thought us such a selfish lot that we
would begrudge you any happiness of
your own? Don’t you think our Jove
tor you is big enough to make us hap
j py in seeing you happy? You used to
say you would never marry. „ We did
not expect you to marry, then. But we
knew the time would' cdtne when mar
riage would seem beautiful and desir
able to you. We were waiting for that
time. We were hoping for It. We
were happy when you loved Jerry,'be
cause we knew he was good and kind
and loving, and that he could give you
ail the beautiful things of life—that I
can never give my children. But you
thought we were too selfish to let you
go, and you sent him away.”
“But father! Who would raise the
| girls? Who would keep the parson
age? Who would look after you?”
“Aunt Grace, to be sure. We talked
it over two years ago, when her hus
band died. Before that, she wai not
free to come to us. But she said then
that whenever we were ready for-her
she would come. We both felt that
slneg you were getting along so magni
ficently with the girls, it was better
that way for a while. But she Said
that when your flitting time caim^ehe
would come to us gludly. We had it
all arranged. You won’t want to mar
ry for a year or so, yet. You’ll want
to have some happy sweetheart day?
first. And you’ll want to make a lot
of those pretty, useless, nonseftelcal
things other girls make when they
marry. That’s why I advised you to
save your burglar money, so you would
have it for this. We’ll have Aunl
Grace come right away, so you can
take a little freedom to be happy, and
to make your plans. And you can
initiate Aunt Grace Into the mysteries
of pursonage housekeeping.”
A bright, strange light had flashed
over Prudence’s face. But her eyes
clouded a little as she asked, “Do you
think they would rather have Aunt
Grace thun meT’
“Of course not But what has that
to do with it? We lore you so dearly
that we can only be happy when you
are happy. We love you so dearly
that we can he happy with you away
from us. Just knowing that you are
hhppy. But you—you thought out
love was such a hideous, selfish, Utile
make-believe that~~”
“Oh, father, I didn’t! You know I
didn't!— But—maybe Jerry won’t for
give me now?”
“Why didn’t you talk It over with
me. Prudence?”
“1 knew you too well, father. I kt>«v*
it would he useless. But—doesn't D
seem wrong, father, that—a girl—thal
I—should love Jerry more than—yon
und the girls? That he should comet
tir.'t? Doesn’t it seem—wicked?”
“No, Prudence, It Is not wicked. Al
ter all, perhaps it is not n stronger
and deeper love. You were willing tdi,
sacrifice him and yourself, for our
sakes! But it is a different love. It
bn the love of woman for man, that la
very different from sister love and fa
ther love. And it Is right. And it is
beautiful."
“I am sure Jerry will forgive me.
Maybe If you will send me a paferwiml
pencil, I can write him a note now?
There’s no use waiting, is there? miry
will bring it, I am -sure.”
But when a few* minutes later, sh<*
heard a step in the hall outside, 'ah**
laid her arm across her face. Some
how she. felt that the wonderful Jpy
i
(CONCLUDED ON PAGE 4.)