Prudence of the Parsonage | Page 8

are----"
"Oh, excuse me, but--really I can't believe there is such a thing as
Christian tolerance," said Prudence firmly. "There is Christian love,
and--that is all we need." Then leaning forward: "What do you do, Miss
Avery, when you meet people you dislike at very first sight?"
"Keep away from them," was the grim reply.
"Exactly! And keep on disliking them," said Prudence triumphantly.
"It's very different with us. When we dislike people at first sight, we
visit them, and talk to them, and invite them to the parsonage, and
entertain them with our best linen and silverware, and keep on getting
friendlier and friendlier, and--first thing you know, we like them fine!
It's a perfectly splendid rule, and it has never failed us once. Try it,
Miss Avery, do! You will be enthusiastic about it, I know."

So the Misses Avery concluded that Prudence was very young, and
couldn't seem to quite outgrow it! She was not entirely responsible.
And they wondered, with something akin to an agony of fear, if the
younger girls "had it, too!" Therefore the Misses Avery kept watch at
their respective windows, and when Miss Alice cried excitedly, "Quick!
Quick! They are coming!" they trooped to Miss Alice's window with a
speed that would have done credit to the parsonage girls themselves.
First came the minister, whom they knew very well by this time, and
considered quite respectable. He was lively, as was to be expected of a
Methodist minister, and told jokes, and laughed at them! Now, a
comical rector,--oh, a very different matter,--it wasn't done, that's all!
At any rate, here came the Methodist minister, laughing, and on one
side of him tripped a small earnest-looking maiden, clasping his hand,
and gazing alternately up into his face, and down at the stylish cement
sidewalk beneath her feet. On the other side, was Fairy. The Misses
Avery knew the girls by name already,--having talked much with
Prudence.
"Such a Fairy!" gasped Miss Millicent, and the others echoed the gasp,
but wordlessly.
For Fairy for very nearly as tall as her father, built upon generous lines,
rather commanding in appearance, a little splendid-looking. Even from
their windows they could discern something distinctly Juno-like in this
sixteen-year-old girl, with the easy elastic stride that matched her
father's, and the graceful head, well carried. A young goddess,--named
Fairy!
Behind them, laughing and chattering, like three children, as they
were,--came the twins with Prudence, each with an arm around her
waist. And Prudence was very little taller than they. When they reached
the fence that bordered the parsonage, the scene for a moment
resembled a miniature riot. The smaller girls jumped and exclaimed,
and clasped their hands. Fairy leaned over the fence, and stared intently
at this, their parsonage home. Then the serious little girl scrambled
under the fence, followed closely by the lithe-limbed twins. A pause, a
very short one,--and then Prudence, too, was wriggling beneath the

fence.
"Hold the wire up for me, papa," cried Fairy, "I'm too fat." And a
second later she was running gracefully across the lawn toward the
parsonage. The Methodist minister laughed boyishly, and placing his
hands on the fence-post, he vaulted lightly over, and reached the house
with his daughters. Then the Misses Avery, school-teachers, and
elderly, looked at one another.
"Did you ever?" whispered the oldest Miss Avery, and the others
slowly shook their heads.
Now, think! Did you ever see a rector jumping a three-wire fence, and
running full speed across his front yard, in pursuit of a flying family? It
may possibly have occurred,--we have never seen it. Neither had the
Misses Avery. Nor did they ever expect to. And if they had seen it, it is
quite likely they would have joined the backsliders at that instant.
But without wasting much time on this gruesome thought, they hurried
to a window commanding the best view of the parsonage, and raised it.
Then they clustered behind the curtains, and watched, and listened.
There was plenty to hear! From the parsonage windows came the sound
of scampering feet and banging doors. Once there was the unmistakable
clatter of a chair overturned. With it all, there was a constant chorus of
"Oh, look!" "Oh! Oh!" "Oh, how sweet!" "Oh, papa!" "Oh, Prudence!"
"Look, Larkie, look at this!"
Then the thud of many feet speeding down the stairs, and the slam of a
door, and the slam of a gate. The whole parsonage-full had poured out
into the back yard, and the barn-lot. Into the chicken coop they raced,
the minister ever close upon their heels. Over the board fence they
clambered to the big rambling barn, and the wide door swung closed
after them. But in a few seconds they were out once more, by the back
barn door, and