of the window for a
moment, and then went out to the barn to see if the horse was through
eating. Mr. Starr walked gravely and soberly out the front door, and
around the house. He ran into Fairy coming out the kitchen door, and
they glanced quickly at each other.

"Hurry, papa," she whispered, "you can't hold in much longer! Neither
can I!"

And together, choking with laughter, they hurried into the barn and gave
full vent to their feelings.

So it was that the twins and Connie were alone for a while.

"You did a pretty good job, Connie," said Carol approvingly.

"Yes. I think I did myself," was the complacent answer. "But I intended
to put in, 'Keep us as the apple of Thy eye, hold us in the hollow of Thy
hand,' and I forgot it until I had said 'Amen.' I had a notion to put in
a post-script, but I believe that isn't done."

"Never mind," said Carol, "I'll use that in mine, to-morrow."

It can not be said that this form of family worship was a great success.
The twins were invariably stereotyped, cut and dried. They thanked the
Lord for the beautiful morning, for kind friends, for health, and family,
and parsonage. Connie always prayed in sentences extracted from the
prayers of others she had often heard, and every time with nearly
disastrous effect.

But the days passed around, and Prudence and Carol's turn came again.
Carol was a thoughtless, impetuous, impulsive girl, and her prayers were
as nearly "verbal repetitions" as any prayers could be. So on this
morning, after the reading of the chapter, Carol knelt by her chair, and
began in her customary solemn voice:

"Oh, our Father, we thank Thee for this beautiful morning." Then intense
silence. For Carol remembered with horror and shame that it was a
dreary, dismal morning, cloudy, ugly and all unlovely. In her despair,
the rest of her petition scattered to the four winds of heaven. She
couldn't think of another word, so she gulped, and stammered out a faint
"Amen."

But Prudence could not begin. Prudence was red in the face, and nearly
suffocated. She felt all swollen inside,--she couldn't speak. The
silence continued. "Oh, why doesn't father do it?" she wondered. As a
matter of fact, father couldn't. But Prudence did not know that. One
who laughs often gets in the habit of laughter,--and sometimes laughs out
of season, as well as in. Finally, Prudence plunged in desperately,
"Dear Father"--as she usually began her sweet, intimate li