r suggestions."

"That's kind of you."

A pause.

"I'm going to dedicate it to Carol,--To my beloved sister, to whose
kindness and sympathy, I owe all that I am,--or something like that,"
Lark explained hopefully.

"How proud Carol will be!"

A long pause.

"We're in a very critical place just now, though," Lark seemed to be
commencing at the beginning once more. "We have our heroine in a very
peculiar situation, and we can't think what to do with her next."

"How sad."

Another pause.

"We thought maybe you could help us out."

"I'm afraid not," Prudence smiled a little. "I haven't any
imagination. Ask Fairy. She's strong on love-stories."

"Maybe if we explain the situation to you, you could give us a
suggestion. It is like this: The young people have had all kinds of
thrilling experiences, but they are not yet betrothed. But they are
just on the point of getting there,--and something crops up all of a
sudden! The hero goes dashing away, and returns no more. The heroine
lies upon her silken couch, weeping, weeping. And no one knows what to
do about it, because no one knows what has happened. What do you
suppose could have sent the lover away like that?"

"Maybe he hasn't enough money for the heroine."

"Oh, yes,--he's very rich."

"Maybe he is already married."

"No, indeed. He's a bachelor."

"Maybe he didn't love her, after all."

Here Carol chimed in helpfully. "Oh, yes, he did, for we left him
kissing her all over the back yard, and he wouldn't have done that if
he hadn't loved her, you know."

Prudence's eyes twinkled a little, but her smile was sad.

"Now, what would you advise us to do?" inquired Lark briskly, feeling
instinctively that Carol had explained too much.

Prudence rose slowly. "I think," she said very gently, "I think I
would burn the book if I were you, and pay a little more attention to
my studies."

Then she went up-stairs, and Carol told Lark sympathetically that they
did not deserve an authoress in the parsonage when they didn't give her
any more encouragement than that!

On the day before Christmas, an insured package was delivered at the
parsonage for Prudence. A letter was with it, and she read that first.

"My dearest little sweetheart: I chose this gift for you long before I
had the right to do it. I was keeping it until the proper moment. But
the moment came, and went again. Still I want you to have the gift.
Please wear it, for my sake, fo