ughts and desires revelled
in; not her hopes, for she had not gotten so far as to hope to live in a
magical world like Miss Prudence. And yet when Miss Prudence did not wear
white she was robed in deep mourning; there was sorrow in Miss Prudence's
magical world.

It was some few moments before the roving eyes could settle themselves
upon the paper and pencil she had been sent for; she would have liked to
choose a sheet of the thick cream-paper with the autumn leaves painted on
it, but that was not for study, and Miss Prudence certainly intended
study, although there was fun in her eyes. She selected carefully a sheet
of foolscap and from among the pen oils a nicely sharpened Faber number
three. With the breath of the room about her, and the beauty and
restfulness of it making a glory in her eyes, she ran down to the broad,
airy hall.

Glancing into the sitting-room as she passed its partly opened door she
discovered her grandfather asleep in his arm-chair and her grandmother
sitting near him busy in slicing apples to be strung and hung up in the
kitchen to dry! With a shiver of foreboding the child passed the door on
tiptoe; suppose her grandmother _should_ call her in to string those
apples! The other children never strung them to suit her and she
"admired" Marjorie's way of doing them. Marjorie said once that she hated
apple blossoms because they turned into dried apples. But that was when
she had stuck the darning needle into her thumb.

I'm afraid you will think now that Marjorie is not as sweet as she used
to be.

She presented the paper, congratulating herself upon her escape, and Miss
Prudence lifted herself in the hammock and took the pencil, holding it in
her fingers while she meditated. What a little girl she was when her
whiteheaded old teacher had bidden her write this sentence on the
blackboard. She wrote it carefully, Marjorie's attentive eyes following
each movement of the pencil.

"The persons inside the coach were Mr Miller a clergyman his son a lawyer
Mr Angelo a foreigner his lady and a little child" In the entire sentence
there was not one punctuation mark.

"Read it, please."

Marjorie began to read, then stopped and laughed.

"I can't."

"You wouldn't enjoy a book very much written in that style, would you?"

"I couldn't enjoy it at all. I wouldn't read it"

"Well, if you can't read it, explain it to me. How many persons are in
the coach?"

"That's easy enough! There's Mr. Miller, t