ed. "Shall we
continue the meeting, Ladies?"

This aroused Prudence's ire on her sister's behalf, and she squared her
shoulders defiantly. For a while, Fairy was utterly subdued. But
thinking it over to herself, she decided that after all there was
nothing absolutely shameful in a sixteen-year-old girl writing
sentimental verses. Silly, to be sure! But all sixteen-year-olds are
silly. We love them for it! And Fairy's good nature and really good
judgment came to her rescue, and she smiled at Prudence with her old
serenity.

The meeting progressed, and the business was presently disposed of. So
far, things were not too seriously bad, and Prudence sighed in great
relief. Then the Ladies took out their sewing, and began industriously
working at many unmentionable articles, designed for the intimate
clothing of a lot of young Methodists confined in an orphans' home in
Chicago. And they talked together pleasantly and gaily. And Prudence
and Fairy felt that the cloud was lifted.

But soon it settled again, dark and lowering. Prudence heard Lark
running through the hall and her soul misgave her. Why was Lark going
upstairs? What was her errand? And she remembered the wraps of the
Ladies, up-stairs, alone and unprotected. Dare she trust Lark in such
a crisis? Perhaps the very sight of Prudence and the Ladies' Aid would
arouse her better nature, and prevent catastrophe. To be sure, her
mission might be innocent, but Prudence dared not run the risk.
Fortunately she was sitting near the door.

"Lark!" she called softly. Lark stopped abruptly, and something fell
to the floor.

"Lark!"

There was a muttered exclamation from without, and Lark began fumbling
rapidly around on the floor talking incoherently to herself.

"Lark!"

The Ladies smiled, and Miss Carr, laughing lightly, said, "She is an
attentive creature, isn't she?"

Prudence would gladly have flown out into the hall to settle this
matter, but she realized that she was on exhibition. Had she done so,
the Ladies would have set her down forever after as thoroughly
incompetent,--she could not go! But Lark must come to her.

"Lark!" This was Prudence's most awful voice, and Lark was bound to
heed.

"Oh, Prue," she said plaintively, "I'll be there in a minute. Can't
you wait just five minutes? Let me run up-stairs first, won't you?
Then I'll come gladly! Won't that do?"

Her voice was hopeful. But Prudence replied with dangerous calm: