Prudence Says So | Page 9

the doorway. She repressed a smile
with difficulty, as she said quietly:
"I was just talking to Mrs. Mains over the phone. She's going to a
Christian Science lecture to-night, and she said she wished I wasn't a
minister's daughter and she'd ask me to go along. I told her I didn't care
to, but said you twins would enjoy it. She'll be here in the car for you at
seven forty-five."
"I won't go," cried Carol. "I won't go near their old church."
"You won't go." Fairy was astonished. "Why--I told her you would be
glad to go."
"I won't," repeated Carol, with nervous passion. "I will not. You can't
make me."
Lark shook her head in corroborative denial.

"Well, that's queer." Fairy frowned, then she smiled.
Suddenly, to the tempest-tossed and troubled twins, the tall splendid
Fairy seemed a haven of refuge. Her eyes were very kind. Her smile
was sweet. And with a cry of relief, and shame, and fear, the twins
plunged upon her and told their little tale.
"You punish us this time, Fairy," begged Carol. "We--we don't want the
rest of the family to know. We'll take any kind of punishment, but keep
it dark, won't you? Prudence will soon forget, she's so awfully full of
Jerry these days."
"I'll talk it over with Prudence," said Fairy. "But--I think we'll have to
tell the family."
Lark moved her feet restlessly. "Well, you needn't tell Connie," she
said. "Having the laugh come back on us is the very meanest kind of a
punishment."
Fairy looked at them a moment, wondering if, indeed, their punishment
had been sufficient.
"Well, little twins," she said, "I guess I will take charge of this myself.
Here is your punishment." She stood up again, and looked down at
them with sparkling eyes as they gazed at her expectantly.
"We caught on that it was a joke. We knew you were listening in the
closet. And Prudence and I acted our little parts to give you one good
scare. Who's the laugh on now? Are we square? Supper's ready." And
Fairy ran down-stairs, laughing, followed by two entirely abashed and
humbled twins.
CHAPTER III
A GIFT FROM HEAVEN
The first of April in the Mount Mark parsonage was a time of trial and
tribulation, frequently to the extent of weeping and gnashing of teeth.

The twins were no respecters of persons, and feeling that the first of
April rendered all things justifiable to all men, they made life as
burdensome to their father as to Connie, and Fairy and Prudence lived
in a state of perpetual anguish until the twins fell asleep at night well
satisfied but worn out with the day's activities. The twins were
bordering closely to the first stage of grown-up womanhood, but on the
first of April they swore they would always be young! The tricks were
more dignified, more carefully planned and scientifically executed than
in the days of their rollicking girlhood,--but they were all the more
heart-breaking on that account.
The week before the first was spent by Connie in a vain effort to ferret
out their plans in order that fore-knowledge might suggest a sufficient
safe-guard. The twins, however, were too clever to permit this, and
their bloody schemes were wrapped in mystery and buried in secrecy.
On the thirty-first of March, Connie labored like a plumber would if
working by the job. She painstakingly hid from sight all her cherished
possessions. The twins were in the barn, presumably deep in plots.
Aunt Grace was at the Ladies' Aid. So when Fairy came in, about four
in the afternoon, there was only Prudence to note the vengeful glitter in
her fine clear eyes. And Prudence was so intent upon feather-stitching
the hems of pink-checked dish towels, that she did not observe it.
"Where's papa?" Fairy asked.
"Up-stairs."
"Where are the twins?"
"In the barn, getting ready for THE DAY."
Fairy smiled delightfully and skipped eagerly up the stairs. She was
closeted with her father for some time, and came out of his room at last
with a small coin carefully concealed in the corner of her handkerchief.
She did not remove her hat, but set briskly out toward town again.
Prudence, startled out of her feather-stitching, followed her to the door.
"Why, Fairy," she called. "Are you going out again?"

Fairy threw out her hands. "So it seems. An errand for papa." She lifted
her brows and pursed up her lips, and the wicked joy in her face pierced
the mantle of Prudence's absorption again.
"What's up?" she questioned curiously, following her sister down the
steps.
Fairy looked about hurriedly, and then whispered a few words of
explanation. Prudence's look changed to one of unnaturally spiteful
glee.
"Good! Fine! Serves 'em right! You'd better hurry."
"Tell Aunt