go," said Aunt Grace quickly.

"Not right away, of course," Prudence agreed. "But you'll find our
liveliness tiring. Whenever you do want to go--"

"I don't think I shall want to go at all," she answered. "I like it
here. I--I like liveliness."

Then Prudence kissed her gratefully.

For several weeks after her initiation in the parsonage, life rolled
along sweetly and serenely. There were only the minor, unavoidable
mishaps and disciplinary measures common to the life of any family. Of
course, there were frequent, stirring verbal skirmishes between Fairy
and the twins, and between the twins and Connie. But these did not
disturb their aunt. She leaned back in her chair, or among the cushions,
listening gravely, but with eyes that always smiled.

Then came a curious lull.

For ten entire and successive days the twins had lived blameless lives.
Their voices rang out gladly and sweetly. They treated Connie with a
sisterly tenderness and gentleness quite out of accord with their usual
drastic discipline. They obeyed the word of Prudence with a cheerful
readiness that was startlingly cherubimic. The most distasteful of
orders called forth nothing stronger than a bright, "Yes, Prudence."
They no longer developed dangerous symptoms of physical disablement at
times of unpleasant duties. Their devotion to the cause of health was
beautiful. Not an ache disturbed them. Not a pain suggested a
substitute.

Prudence watched them with painful solicitude. Her years of mothering
had given her an almost supernatural intuition as to causes, and
effects.

On Wednesday morning, Mr. Starr bade his family good-by and set out on a
tour of Epworth League conventions. He was to be away from home until
the end of the following week. A prospective Presbyterian theologian had
been selected from the college to fill his pulpit on the Sabbath, and
the girls, with their aunt, faced an unusually long period of running
the parsonage to suit themselves.

At ten o'clock the train carried their father off in the direction of
Burlington, and at eleven o'clock the twins returned to the parsonage.
They had given him a daughterly send-off at the station, and then gone
to the library for books. Prudence, Fairy and Aunt Grace sat sewing on
the side porch as they cut across the parsonage lawn, their feet
crinkling pleasantly through the drift of autumn leaves the wind had
piled beneath the trees.

"We're out of potatoes, twins," said Prudence, as they