Prudence of the Parsonage Part 34

"Then, sweetheart, be reasonable. Your father loved your mother, and married her. That is G.o.d's plan for all of us. You have been a wonderfully brave and sweet daughter and sister, I know. But surely Fairy is old enough to take your place now."

"Fairy's going to be a professor, and--the girls do not mind her very well. And she isn't as much comfort to father as I am.--It's just because I am most like mother, you see. But anyhow, I promised. I can't leave them."

"Your father expects you to marry, and to marry me. I told him about it myself, long ago. And he was perfectly willing. He didn't say a word against it."

"Of course he wouldn't. That's just like father. But still, I promised. And what would the girls say if I should go back on them?

They have trusted me, always. If I fail them, will they ever trust anybody else? If you love me, Jerry, please go, and stay away." But her arm tightened about his neck. "I'll wait here until you get your things, and we can--say good-by. And don't forget your promise."

"Oh, very well, Prudence," he answered, half irritably, "if you insist on ordering me away from the house like this, I can only go. But----"

"Let's not talk any more about it, Jerry. Please. I'll wait until you come down."

When he came down a little later, with his suitcase, his face was white and strained.

She put her arms around his neck. "Jerry," she whispered, "I want to tell you that I love you so much that--I could go away with you, and never see any of them any more, or papa, or the parsonage, and still feel rich, if I just had you! You--everything in me seems to be all yours. I--love you."

Her tremulous lips were pressed against his.

"Oh, sweetheart, this is folly, all folly. But I can't make you see it. It is wrong, it is wickedly wrong, but----"

"But I am all they have, Jerry, and--I promised."

"Whenever you want me, Prudence, just send. I'll never change. I'll always be just the same. G.o.d intended you for me, I know, and--I'll be waiting."

"Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!" she whispered pa.s.sionately, sobbing, quivering in his arms. It was he who drew away.

"Good-by, sweetheart," he said quietly, great pity in his heart for the girl who in her desire to do right was doing such horrible wrong.

"Good-by, sweetheart. Remember, I will be waiting. Whenever you send, I will come."

He stepped outside, and closed the door. Prudence stood motionless, her hands clenched, until she could no longer hear his footsteps. Then she dropped on the floor, and lay there, face downward, until she heard Fairy moving in her room up-stairs. Then she went into the kitchen and built the fire for breakfast.

CHAPTER XIV

SHE COMES TO GRIEF

Fairy was one of those buoyant, warm-blooded girls to whom sleep is indeed the great restorer. She slept soundly, sweetly, dreamlessly.

And every morning she ran down-stairs so full of animation and life that she seemed all atingle to her finger-tips. Now she stood in the kitchen door, tall, cheeks glowing, eyes sparkling, and smiled at her sister's solemn back.

"You are the little mousey, Prue," she said, in her full rich voice.

"I didn't hear you come to bed last night, and I didn't hear you getting out this morning. I am an abominably solid sleeper, am I not?

Shall I get the maple sirup for the pancakes? I wonder if Jerry knows we only use maple sirup when he is here. I'm constantly expecting Connie to give it away. Why am I always so ravenously hungry in the morning? Goodness knows I eat enough--Why, what is the matter?" For Prudence had turned her face toward her sister, and it was so white and so unnatural that Fairy was shocked.

"Prudence! You are sick! Go to bed and let me get breakfast. Why didn't you call me? I'm real angry at you, Prudence Starr! Here, get out of this, and I will----"

"There's nothing the matter with me. I had a headache, and did not sleep, but I am all right now. Yes, bring the sirup, Fairy. Are the girls up yet?"

Fairy eyed her suspiciously. "Jerry is out unusually early, too, isn't he? His door is open. I didn't hear him coming down so he must have quite outdone himself to-day. He generally has to be called twice."

"Jerry has gone, Fairy." Prudence's back was presented to view once more, and Prudence was stirring the oatmeal with vicious energy. "He left early this morning,--I suppose he is half-way to Des Moines by now."

"Oh!" Fairy's voice was non-committal.

"Will you get the sirup now?"

"Yes, of course.--When is he coming back?"

"He isn't coming back. Please hurry, Fairy, and then call the others.

The oatmeal is ready."

Fairy went soberly down cellar, and brought up the golden sirup. Then, ostensibly to call her sisters, she hurried up the stairs.

"Girls," she began, carefully closing the door of their room behind her. "Jerry has gone, and isn't coming back any more. And for goodness' sake, don't keep asking questions about it. Just eat your breakfast as usual, and have a little tact."

"Gone!"

"Yes."

"A lovers' quarrel," suggested Lark, and her eyes glittered greedily.

"Nothing of the sort. And don't keep staring at Prue, either. And do not keep talking about Jerry all the time. You mind me, or I will tell papa."

"That's funny," said Carol thoughtfully. "We left them kissing each other like mad in the back yard last night,--and this morning he has gone to return no more. They are crazy."

"Kissing! In the back yard! What are you talking about?"

Carol explained, and Fairy looked still more thoughtful and perturbed.

She opened the door, and called out to them in a loud and breezy voice, "Hurry, girls, for breakfast is ready, and there's no time to waste in a parsonage on Sunday morning." Then she added in a whisper, "And don't you mention Jerry, and don't ask Prudence what makes her so pale, or you'll catch it!"

Then she went to her father's door. "Breakfast is ready, papa," she called clearly. She turned the k.n.o.b softly, and peeped in. "May I come in a minute?" Standing close beside him, she told him all she knew of what had happened.

"Prudence is ghastly, father, just ghastly. And she can't talk about it yet, so be careful what you say, will you?"

And it was due to Fairy's kindly admonitions that the parsonage family took the departure of Jerry so calmly.

"Fairy says Jerry took the morning train," said Mr. Starr, as they were pa.s.sing the cream and sugar for the oatmeal. "That is too bad! But it is just the worst of being a business man,--one never knows when one must be up and away. And of course, one can not neglect business interests.--The oatmeal is unusually good this morning, Prudence."

This was nothing short of heroic on his part, for her eyes upon her father's face were so wide and dark that the lump in his throat would not stay down.

That was the beginning of Prudence's bitter winter, when the brightest sunshine was cheerless and dreary, and when even the laughter of her sisters smote harshly upon her ears. She tried to be as always, but in her eyes the wounded look lingered, and her face grew so pale and thin that her father and Fairy, anxiously watching, were filled with grave concern. She remained almost constantly in the parsonage, reading very little, sitting most of her leisure time staring out the windows.

Fairy had tried to win her confidence, and had failed.

"You are a darling, Fairy, but I really do not want to talk about it.--Oh, no, indeed, it is all my own fault. I told him to go, and not come again.--No, you are wrong, Fairy, I do not regret it. I do not want him to come any more."

And Fairy worried. What in the world had happened to separate in the morning these two who had been kissing so frankly in the back yard the evening before?