hat's one; there's the
clergyman, that's two!"

"Perhaps that is only one; Mr. Miller may be a clergyman."

"So he may. But how can I tell?" asked Marjorie, perplexed. "Well, then,
his son makes two."

"Whose son?"

"Why, Mr. Miller's!"

"Perhaps he was the clergyman's son," returned Miss Prudence seriously.

"Well, then," declared Marjorie, "I guess there were eight people! Mr.
Miller, the clergyman, the son, the lawyer, Mr. Angelo, a foreigner, a
lady, and a child!"

"Placing a comma after each there are eight persons," said Miss Prudence
making the commas.

"Yes," assented Marjorie, watching her.

Beneath it Miss Prudence wrote the sentence again, punctuating thus:

"The persons inside the conch were Mr. Miller, a clergyman; his son, a
lawyer; Mr. Angelo, a foreigner, his lady; and a little child."

"Now how many persons are there inside this coach?"

"Three gentlemen, a lady and child," laughed Marjorie--"five instead of
eight. Those little marks have caused three people to vanish."

"And to change occupations."

"Yes, for Mr. Miller is a clergyman, his son a lawyer, and Mr. Angelo has
become a foreigner."

The pencil was moving again and the amused, attentive eyes were
steadfastly following.

"The persons inside the coach were Mr. Miller; a clergyman, his son; a
lawyer, Mr. Angelo; a foreigner, his lady, and a little child."

Marjorie uttered an exclamation; it was so funny!

"Now, Mr. Miller's son is a clergyman instead of himself, Mr. Angelo is a
lawyer, and nobody knows whether he is a foreigner or not, and we don't
know the foreigner's name, and he has a wife and child."

Miss Prudence smiled over the young eagerness, and rewrote the sentence
once again causing Mr. Angelo to cease to be a lawyer and giving the
foreigner a wife but no little child.

"O, Miss Prudence, you've made the little thing an orphan all alone in a
stage-coach all through the change of a comma to be a semi-colon!"
exclaimed Marjorie in comical earnestness. "I think punctuation means
ever so much; it isn't dry one bit," she added, enthusiastically.

"You couldn't enjoy Mrs. Browning very well without it," smiled Miss
Prudence.

"I never would know what the 'Cry of the Children' meant, or anything
about Cowper's grave, would I? And if I punctuated it myself, I might
not get all _she_ meant. I might make a meaning of my own, and that would
be sad."

"I think you do," said Miss Prudence; "when I read it to you and