very terrible.
You did just exactly right, Larkie. Father will say so. I guess maybe
it's not the job for a minister's girl. Of course, the story will come
out, but we're not the ones to tell it."

"But--the Career," suggested Carol.

"Why," said Lark, "I'll wait a little and then have a real literary
career, you know, stories, and books, and poems, the kind that don't
harrow people's feelings. I really don't think it is right. Don't you
remember Prudence says the parsonage is a place to hide sorrows, not to
hang them on the clothesline for every one to see." She looked for a
last time over her shoulder. Dimly she saw a small dark cloud,--all that
was left of the shadow which had seemed so eager to devour her. Her arms
clasped Carol with renewed intensity.

"Oh," she breathed, "oh, isn't the parsonage lovely, Carol? I wish
father would come. You all look so sweet, and kind, and--oh, I love to
be at home."

CHAPTER IX

A CLEAR CALL

The tinkle of the telephone disturbed the family as they were at dinner,
and Connie, who sat nearest, rose to answer the summons, while Carol, at
her corner of the table struck a tragic attitude.

"If Joe Graves has broken anything, he's broken our friendship for good
and all. These fellows that break themselves--"

"Break themselves?" asked her father gravely.

"Yes,--any of his members, you know, his leg, or his arm, or,--If he
has, I must say frankly that I hope it is his neck. These boys that
break themselves at the last minute, thereby breaking dates, are--"

"Well," Connie said calmly, "if you're through, I'll begin."

"Oh, goodness, Connie, deafen one ear and listen with the other. You've
got to learn to hear in a hubbub. Go on then, I'm through. But I haven't
forgotten that I missed the Thanksgiving banquet last year because Phil
broke his ankle that very afternoon on the ice. What business had he on
the ice when he had a date--"

"Ready?" asked Connie, as the phone rang again, insistently.

"Go on, then. Don't wait until I get started. Answer it."

Connie removed the receiver and called the customary "Hello." Then,
"Yes, just a minute. It's for you, Carol."

Carol rose darkly. "It's Joe," she said in a dungeon-dark voice. "He's
broken, I foresee it. If there's anything I despise and abominate it's a
breaker of dates. I think it ought to be included among the
condemnations in the decalogue. Men have no business being broken,
except their hearts, when girls a