Prudence of the Parsonage Part 16

"Good heavens! The what?"

"The bugs! I can't bear for you to be near me, because I keep wondering if there are bugs and things in your pocket. I'm afraid they'll get over on me. Even now it makes me shiver when you hold my hands, because I know you've been handling the horrible little creatures with yours." He dropped her hands abruptly, and stared at her. "And after you leave, I get down on my hands and knees and look over the floor, and examine the chairs, to see if any have crawled off!

It's a terrible feeling, Mr. Rayburn. You know I told you I hated bugs.--I'm afraid I've hurt your feelings," she said sadly.

"Where in the world did you get such an idea as that?" he demanded rather angrily. "Do you think I have pet bugs to carry around with me for company?"

"No,--but don't you remember the picnic,--and how you kept gathering them up in your handkerchiefs and putting them in your pockets? And how I kept squirming around to get on the other side,--I was trying to get away from the bugs!"

"But, my heavens, Prudence, those were my field clothes. I don't put bugs in these pockets,--these are my Sunday togs!" He smiled a little.

"And I always wash my hands, you know." He found it humorous, and yet it hurt him. Such a little thing to prejudice a girl so strongly,--and one he liked so marvelously well!

"You might forget, and put them in these pockets,--it's a kind of habit with you, I suppose. And just plain washing won't take the idea of bugs off your hands."

"Prudence, you are only a girl,--a childish girl, but a very sweet one.

I want you to like me. When you grow up, you are going to be a wonderfully good and lovely woman. I--I am going to want you then. I know it. Let's just be friends now, can't we--until later--for a long time yet? I'll promise on my word of honor never to put another bug in my pockets, or my handkerchiefs. But I can't promise not to touch them, for I have to do it in cla.s.s. That's how I earn my living! But I will wash my hands with Ivory soap and sapolio, and rub them with cold cream, and powder them, and perfume them, before I ever come near you again. Won't that do?"

Prudence shook her head. "I know you are laughing at me," she said, "but I always told you I was just a silly simpleton. And--it isn't the bugs altogether. I--I like it better to be with my sisters than----"

"Than with me? I see. As I said, the woman of you is still sleeping.

Well, we are young, and I will wait. I won't bother you any more for a long time, Prudence, but I shan't forget you. And some day I will come back to you again." He stared at her moodily. Then he put his hands beneath her elbows, and looked into her eyes searchingly. "You are a strange girl, Prudence. In some ways, you are so womanly, and in other ways so--pitifully girlish! All the woman in your heart seems to be given to your sisters and your father, and-- But you will waken, and I won't hurry you." Then he put his arms around her again, and whispered in her ear, "But I love you, Prudence, and--if some one else should do the awakening--it would hurt!" Then he kissed her, and went away.

But Prudence ran up-stairs, singing happily. "Oh, I feel like a caged-up bird that has broken loose," she cried to her reflection in the mirror jubilantly. "Oh, what fun it will be to come home from church with Fairy and the twins, the way I used to do!"

CHAPTER VII

LESSONS IN ETIQUETTE

Connie was lying flat on her back near the register. The twins were sitting on the floor near her, hearing each other conjugate Latin verbs. And Prudence, with her darning basket, was earnestly trying to solve a domestic problem,--how to get three pairs of wearable stockings out of eleven hosiery remnants. So Fairy found them as she came in, radiant and glowing.

"Glorious day," she said, glancing impartially at her sisters. "Just glorious! Why are you all hugging the register, may I ask? It is perfect weather. Connie, you should be out-of-doors this minute, by all means. Twins, aren't you grown-up enough to sit on chairs, or won't your footies reach the floor?--Babbie, Eugene Babler, you know, is coming to spend the evening, Prudence."

"What is going on to-night?" queried Prudence.

"Nothing is going on. That's why he is coming. It's too cold to meander around outdoors these nights, and so we shall have to amuse ourselves inside as best we can."

The whole family came to attention at this.

"Oh, goody!" cried Connie. "Let's make taffy, shall we, Fairy?"

"Certainly not. This isn't a children's party. You'll go to bed at eight o'clock as usual, Connie mine.--Now, we must have something to eat. The question is, What shall it be?"

"Yes," agreed Carol with enthusiasm,--Carol was always enthusiastic on the subject of something to eat. "Yes, indeed, that is the question.

What shall we have?"

"You will likely have pleasant dreams, Carol," was the cool retort.

"Babbie did not invite himself to spend the evening with you, I believe."

"Do you mean to suggest," demanded Lark with withering scorn, "that it is your intention to shut yourself up alone with this--this creature, excluding the rest of us?"

"Yes, and have refreshments for just you two?" cried Carol.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Yes, and have refreshments for just you two?"]

"That is my intention most certainly. The twins and Connie will not put in appearance at all. Prue will serve the refreshments, and will eat with us. Babbie and I shall spend the evening in the front room."

"The front room?" echoed Prudence. "This room is much cheerier, and more homelike."

"Well, Babbie isn't a member of the family, you know," said Fairy.

"You are doing your best," sniffed Carol.

"Now, you girls must understand right off, that things are different here from what they were at Exminster. When boys came to the house there they came to have a good time with the whole family. But here it is very different. I've been looking around, and I've got on to the system. The proper thing is to receive callers privately, without the family en ma.s.se sitting by and superintending. That's etiquette, you know. And one must always serve refreshments. More etiquette. Men are such greedy animals, they do not care to go places where the eats aren't forthcoming."

"Men! Are you referring to this Babbling creature now?" interposed Carol.

"Ouch!" said Lark.

"But won't it be rather--poky--just sitting in the front room by yourselves all evening?" asked Prudence doubtfully, ignoring the offended twins.

"Oh, I dare say it will. But it's the proper thing to do," said Fairy complacently.

"What are you going to do all evening?" Connie wanted to know. "Just sit and look at each other and admire yourselves?"

The twins thought this very clever of Connie, so they both said "Ouch!"

approvingly.

"Why, no, baby dear," said Fairy good-naturedly. "We shall talk.

Feast our souls with a flow of reason, you know. We shall converse.

We shall hold pleasant intercourse."

"Wouldn't it be more fun to have the girls in for a little while?"

This from Prudence.

"Oh, it might,--but it wouldn't be the proper thing at all. College men do not care to be entertained by babies."

"No," snapped Lark, "the wisdom of babies is too deep for these--these--these men in embryo."

This was so exquisitely said that Lark was quite restored to amiability by it. "In embryo," had been added to her vocabulary that very day in the biology cla.s.s. It was only the sheerest good fortune which gave her the opportunity of utilizing it so soon. And Carol said "Ouch!"

with such whole-souled admiration that Lark's spirit soared among the clouds. She had scored!

"And what shall we serve them?" urged Prudence. "I suppose it would hardly do to--pop corn, would it?"

"No, indeed. Popping corn is very nice for the twins and the little boys in the neighborhood." Fairy smiled with relish as she saw the twins wince at this thrust. "But Babbie and I-- Oh, never! It wouldn't do at all. Now, oyster stew and crackers,--I mean wafers,----"

"Oysters are fearfully expensive, Fairy," objected the frugal Prudence.