Prudence of the Parsonage | Page 4

other parsonage where Prudence was
born, nineteen years before.
Together she and her father went from room to room, up-stairs and
down, moving a table to the left, a bed to the right,--according to her
own good pleasure. Afterward they had a cozy luncheon for two in the
"dining-room."
"Oh, it is so elegant to have a dining-room," breathed Prudence happily.
"I always pretended it was rather fun, and a great saving of work, to eat
and cook and study and live in one room, but inwardly the idea always
outraged me. Is that the school over there?"
"Yes, that's where Connie will go. There is only one high school in
Mount Mark, so the twins will have to go to the other side of town,--a
long walk, but in good weather they can come home for dinner.--I'm
afraid the kitchen will be too cold in winter, Prudence,--it's hardly more
than a shed, really. Maybe we'd----"
"Oh, father, if you love me, don't suggest that we move the stove in
here in winter! I'm perfectly willing to freeze out there, for the sake of
having a dining-room. Did I ever tell you what Carol said about that

kitchen-dining-room-living-room combination at Exminster? Well, she
asked us a riddle, 'When is a dining-room not a dining-room?' And she
answered it herself, 'When it's a little pig-pen.' And I felt so badly about
it, but it did look like a pig-pen, with stove here, and cupboard there,
and table yonder, and--oh, no, father, please let me freeze!"
"I confess I do not see the connection between a roomful of furniture
and a pig-pen, but Carol's wit is often too subtle for me."
"Oh, that's a lovely place over there, father!" exclaimed Prudence,
looking from the living-room windows toward the south. "Isn't it
beautiful?"
"Yes. The Avery family lives there. The parents are very old and feeble,
and the daughters are all--elderly--and all school-teachers. There are
four of them, and the youngest is forty-six. It is certainly a beautiful
place. See the orchard out behind, and the vineyard. They are very
wealthy, and they are not fond of children outside of school hours, I am
told, so we must keep an eye on Connie.--Dear me, it is two o'clock
already, and I must go at once. Mrs. Adams will be here in a few
minutes, and you will not be lonely."
But when Mrs. Adams arrived at the parsonage, she knocked repeatedly,
and in vain, upon the front door. After that she went to the side door,
with no better result. Finally, she gathered her robes about her and went
into the back yard. She peered into the woodshed, and saw no one. She
went into the barn-lot, and found it empty. In despair, she plunged into
the barn--and stopped abruptly.
In a shadowy corner was a slender figure kneeling beside an overturned
nail keg, her face buried in her hands. Evidently this was Prudence
engaged in prayer,--and in the barn, of all places in the world!
"A--a--a--hem!" stammered Mrs. Adams inquiringly.
"Amen!" This was spoken aloud and hurriedly, and Prudence leaped to
her feet. Her fair hair clung about her face in damp babyish tendrils,
and her face was flushed and dusty, but alight with friendly interest.

She ran forward eagerly, thrusting forth a slim and grimy hand.
"You are Mrs. Adams, aren't you? I am Prudence Starr. It is so kind of
you to come the very first day," she cried. "It makes me love you right
at the start."
"Ye--yes, I am Mrs. Adams." Mrs. Adams was embarrassed. She could
not banish from her mental vision that kneeling figure by the nail keg.
Interrogation was written all over her ample face, and Prudence
promptly read it and hastened to reply.
"I do not generally say my prayers in the barn, Mrs. Adams, I assure
you. I suppose you were greatly surprised. I didn't expect to do it
myself, when I came out here, but--well, when I found this grand, old,
rambling barn, I was so thankful I couldn't resist praying about it. Of
course, I didn't specially designate the barn, but God knew what I
meant, I am sure."
"But a barn!" ejaculated the perplexed "member." "Do you call that a
blessing?"
"Yes, indeed I do," declared Prudence. Then she explained patiently:
"Oh, it is on the children's account, you know. They have always
longed for a big romantic barn to play in. We've never had anything but
a shed, and when father went to Conference this year, the twins told
him particularly to look out for a good big barn. They said we'd be
willing to put up with any kind of a parsonage, if only we might draw a
barn for once. You can't imagine how happy this dear old place