"Em'line is an old crank," growled Thomas. He detested Emmeline Strong,
and always did.

"She's that, all right," I agreed, "and that is just the reason she can
turn poor Prissy any way she likes. You mark my words, she'll put her
foot right down on this as soon as she finds it out."

Thomas said that I was probably right. I lay awake for a long time after
I went to bed that night, thinking of Prissy and Stephen. As a general
rule, I don't concern my head about other people's affairs, but Prissy
was such a helpless creature I couldn't get her off my mind.

Twenty years ago Stephen Clark had tried to go with Prissy Strong. That
was pretty soon after Prissy's father had died. She and Emmeline were
living alone together. Emmeline was thirty, ten years older than Prissy,
and if ever there were two sisters totally different from each other in
every way, those two were Emmeline and Prissy Strong.

Emmeline took after her father; she was big and dark and homely, and she
was the most domineering creature that ever stepped on shoe leather. She
simply ruled poor Prissy with a rod of iron.

Prissy herself was a pretty girl--at least most people thought so.
I can't honestly say I ever admired her style much myself. I like
something with more vim and snap to it. Prissy was slim and pink, with
soft, appealing blue eyes, and pale gold hair all clinging in baby rings
around her face. She was just as meek and timid as she looked and there
wasn't a bit of harm in her. I always liked Prissy, even if I didn't
admire her looks as much as some people did.

Anyway, it was plain her style suited Stephen Clark. He began to drive
her, and there wasn't a speck of doubt that Prissy liked him. Then
Emmeline just put a stopper on the affair. It was pure cantankerousness
in her. Stephen was a good match and nothing could be said against
him. But Emmeline was just determined that Prissy shouldn't marry. She
couldn't get married herself, and she was sore enough about it.

Of course, if Prissy had had a spark of spirit she wouldn't have given
in. But she hadn't a mite; I believe she would have cut off her nose if
Emmeline had ordered her to do it. She was just her mother over again.
If ever a girl belied her name, Prissy Strong did. There wasn't anything
strong about her.

One night, when prayer meeting came out, Stephen stepped up to Prissy
as usual and asked if he might see her home. Thomas and I were just
behind--we weren't married ourselves