Serina moved on to her youngest daughter's door. She had tapped but once
when it was opened by "the best girl that ever lived," according to her
father; and according to her mother, "a treasure; never gave me a bit of
trouble--plain, of course, but so willing!"

Ollie was fully dressed and so was her room, except for the bed, the
covers of which were thrown back like a wave breaking over the
footboard. In fact, after Ollie had kissed her mother she informed her
that the kitchen fire was made, the wash-boiler on, and the breakfast
going.

"You are a treasure!" Serina sighed.

She passed on to the door of Prue. Prue was the second daughter. Rosie,
the eldest, had married Tom Milford and moved away. She was having
troubles of her own, and children with a regularity that led Serina to
dislike Tom Milford more than ever.

Serina knocked several times at Prue's door without response. Then she
went in as she always had to. Prue was still asleep, and her yesterday's
clothes seemed to be asleep, too, in all sorts of attitudes and all
sorts of places. The only regularity about the room was the fact that
every single thing was out of place. The dressing-table held a little
chaos, including one stocking. The other stocking was on the floor. One
silken garter glowed in the southeast corner and one in the northwest.
One shoe reclined in the southwest corner and the other gaped in the
northeast. But they were pretty shoes.

Her frock was in a heap, but it suggested a heap of flowers.
Hair-ribbons and ribboned things and a crumpled sash bedecked the
carpet. But the prettiest thing of all was the head half fallen from the
pillow and half smothered in the tangled skeins of hair. One arm was
bent back over her brow to shut out the sunlight and the other arm
dangled to the floor. There was something adorable about the round chin
nestling in the soft throat. Her chin seemed to frown with a lovable
sullenness. There was a mysterious grace in the very sprawl vaguely
outlined by the long wrinkles and ridges of the blankets.

Serina shook her head over Prue in a loving despair. She was the bad boy
of the family, impatient, exacting, hot-tempered, stormy, luxurious, yet
never monotonous.

"You can always put your hand on Ollie," Serina would say; "but you
never know where Prue is from one minute to the next."

Consequently Ollie was not interesting and Prue was.

They were all afraid of Prue and afraid for her. They all toadied to her