Prudence Says So | Page 5

a parsonage bunch that revels in misfortune? Can you
take the responsibility of rearing a family that knows trouble only? This
is your last chance. Weigh well your words."
The twins squirmed uncomfortably. True, she was their aunt, and knew
many things about them. But they did think it was almost bad form for
their father to emphasize their failings in the presence of any one
outside the family.
Fairy pursed up her lips, puffing vainly at the soot that had settled upon
her face. Then she laughed. "Very true, Aunt Grace," she said. "We
admit that we're a luckless family. But we're expecting, with you to
help us, to do much better. You see, we've never had half a chance so
far, with only father behind us."
The twins revived at this, and joined in the laughter their father led
against himself.
Later in the day Prudence drew her aunt to one side and asked softly,
"Was it much of a shock to you, Aunt Grace? The family drowned in
soot to welcome you? I'm sure you expected to find everything trim and
fresh and orderly. Was it a bitter disappointment?"
Aunt Grace smiled brightly. "Why, no, Prudence," she said in her slow
even voice. "I really expected something to be wrong! I'd have been
disappointed if everything had gone just right!"
CHAPTER II

SCIENCE AND HEALTH
After all, the advent of a chaperon made surprisingly little difference in
the life of the parsonage family, but what change there was, was all to
the good. Their aunt assumed no active directorate over household
matters. She just slipped in, happily, unobtrusively, helpfully. She was
a gentle woman, smiling much, saying little. Indeed, her
untalkativeness soon became a matter of great merriment among the
lively girls.
"A splendid deaf and dumb person was lost to the world in you, Aunt
Grace," Carol assured her warmly. "I never saw a woman who could
say so much in smiles, and be so expressive without words."
Fairy said, "She carries on a prolonged discussion, and argues and
orates, without saying a word."
The members of the Ladies' Aid, who hastened to call, said, "She is
perfectly charming--such a fine conversationalist!"
She was always attractively dressed, always self-possessed, always
friendly, always good-natured, and the girls found her presence only
pleasing. She relieved Prudence, admired Fairy, laughed at the twins,
adored Connie. Between her and Mr. Starr there was a frank
camaraderie, charming, but seldom found between brothers- and
sisters-in-law.
"Of course, Aunt Grace," Prudence told her sweetly, "we aren't going to
be selfish with you. We don't expect you to bury yourself in the
parsonage. Whenever you want to trip away for a while, you must feel
free to go. We don't intend to monopolize you, however much we want
to do so. Whenever you want to go, you must go."
"I shan't want to go," said Aunt Grace quickly.
"Not right away, of course," Prudence agreed. "But you'll find our
liveliness tiring. Whenever you do want to go--"

"I don't think I shall want to go at all," she answered. "I like it here. I--I
like liveliness."
Then Prudence kissed her gratefully.
For several weeks after her initiation in the parsonage, life rolled along
sweetly and serenely. There were only the minor, unavoidable mishaps
and disciplinary measures common to the life of any family. Of course,
there were frequent, stirring verbal skirmishes between Fairy and the
twins, and between the twins and Connie. But these did not disturb
their aunt. She leaned back in her chair, or among the cushions,
listening gravely, but with eyes that always smiled.
Then came a curious lull.
For ten entire and successive days the twins had lived blameless lives.
Their voices rang out gladly and sweetly. They treated Connie with a
sisterly tenderness and gentleness quite out of accord with their usual
drastic discipline. They obeyed the word of Prudence with a cheerful
readiness that was startlingly cherubimic. The most distasteful of orders
called forth nothing stronger than a bright, "Yes, Prudence." They no
longer developed dangerous symptoms of physical disablement at times
of unpleasant duties. Their devotion to the cause of health was beautiful.
Not an ache disturbed them. Not a pain suggested a substitute.
Prudence watched them with painful solicitude. Her years of mothering
had given her an almost supernatural intuition as to causes, and effects.
On Wednesday morning, Mr. Starr bade his family good-by and set out
on a tour of Epworth League conventions. He was to be away from
home until the end of the following week. A prospective Presbyterian
theologian had been selected from the college to fill his pulpit on the
Sabbath, and the girls, with their aunt, faced an unusually long period
of running the parsonage to suit themselves.
At ten o'clock the