Prudence of the Parsonage Part 36

"Oh, yes,--he's very rich."

"Maybe he is already married."

"No, indeed. He's a bachelor."

"Maybe he didn't love her, after all."

Here Carol chimed in helpfully. "Oh, yes, he did, for we left him kissing her all over the back yard, and he wouldn't have done that if he hadn't loved her, you know."

Prudence's eyes twinkled a little, but her smile was sad.

"Now, what would you advise us to do?" inquired Lark briskly, feeling instinctively that Carol had explained too much.

Prudence rose slowly. "I think," she said very gently, "I think I would burn the book if I were you, and pay a little more attention to my studies."

Then she went up-stairs, and Carol told Lark sympathetically that they did not deserve an auth.o.r.ess in the parsonage when they didn't give her any more encouragement than that!

On the day before Christmas, an insured package was delivered at the parsonage for Prudence. A letter was with it, and she read that first.

"My dearest little sweetheart: I chose this gift for you long before I had the right to do it. I was keeping it until the proper moment. But the moment came, and went again. Still I want you to have the gift.

Please wear it, for my sake, for I shall be happy knowing it is where it ought to be, even though I myself am banished. I love you, Prudence. Whenever you send for me, I am ready to come. Entirely and always yours. Jerry."

With trembling fingers she opened the little package. It contained a ring, with a brilliant diamond flashing myriad colors before her eyes.

And Prudence kissed it pa.s.sionately, many times.

Two hours later, she went quietly down-stairs to where the rest of the family were decorating a Christmas tree. She showed the ring to them gravely.

"Jerry sent it to me," she said. "Do you think it is all right for me to wear it, father?"

A thrill of hopeful expectancy ran through the little group.

"Yes, indeed," declared her father. "How beautiful it is! Is Jerry coming to spend Christmas with us?"

"Why, no, father,--he is not coming at all any more. I thought you understood that."

An awkward silence, and Carol came brightly to the rescue. "It certainly is a beauty! I thought it was very kind of Professor Duckie to send Lark and me a five-pound box of chocolates, but of course this is ever so much nicer. Jerry's a bird, I say."

"A bird!" mocked Fairy. "Such language."

Lark came to her twin's defense. "Yes, a bird,--that's just what he is."

Carol smiled. "We saw him use his wings when Connie yanked him out of the big maple, didn't we, Lark?" Then, "Did you send him anything, Prue?"

Prudence hesitated, and answered without the slightest accession of color, "Yes, Carol. I had my picture taken when I was in Burlington, and sent it to him."

"Your picture! Oh, Prudence! Where are they? Aren't you going to give us one?"

"No, Carol. I had only one made,--for Jerry. There aren't any more."

"Well," sighed Lark resignedly, "it's a pretty idea for my book, anyhow."

From that day on, Prudence always wore the sparkling ring,--and the women of the Methodist church nearly had mental paralysis marveling over a man who gave a diamond ring, and never came a-wooing! And a girl who accepted and wore his offering, with nothing to say for the man! And it was the consensus of opinion in Mount Mark that modern lovers were mostly crazy, anyhow!

And springtime came again.

Now the twins were always original in their amus.e.m.e.nts. They never followed blindly after the dictates of custom. When other girls were playing dolls, the twins were a tribe of wild Indians. When other girls were jumping the rope, the twins were conducting a circus. And when other girls played "catch" with dainty rubber b.a.l.l.s, the twins took unto themselves a big and heavy croquet ball,--found in the Avery woodshed. To be sure, it stung and bruised their hands. What matter?

At any rate, they continued endangering their lives and beauties by reckless pitching of the ungainly plaything.

One Friday evening after school, they were amusing themselves on the parsonage lawn with this huge ball. When their father turned in, they ran up to him with a sporting proposition.

"Bet you a nickel, papa," cried Carol, "that you can't throw this ball as far as the schoolhouse woodshed!--By the way, will you lend me a nickel, papa?"

He took the ball, and weighed it lightly in his hand. "I'm an anti-betting society," he declared, laughing, "but I very strongly believe it will carry to the schoolhouse woodshed. If it does not, I'll give you five cents' worth of candy to-morrow. And if it does, you shall put an extra nickel in the collection next Sunday."

Then he drew back his arm, and carefully sighted across the lawn.

"I'll send it right between the corner of the house and that little cedar," he said, and then, bending low, it whizzed from his hand.

Lark screamed, and Carol sank fainting to the ground. For an instant, Mr. Starr himself stood swaying. Then he rushed across the lawn. For Prudence had opened the front door, and stepped quickly out on the walk by the corner of the house. The heavy ball struck her on the forehead, and she fell heavily, without a moan.

CHAPTER XV

FATE TAKES CHARGE

Four hours Prudence lay unconscious, with two doctors in close attendance. Fairy, alert but calm, was at hand to give them service.

It is a significant thing that in bitter anguish and grief, Christians find comfort and peace in prayer. Outsiders, as well as Christians, pray in times of danger and mental stress. But here is the big difference between the prayers of Christians and the prayers of "others." "Others" pray, and pray, and pray again, and continue still in the agony and pa.s.sion of grief and fear. And yet they pray. But Christians pray, and find confidence and serenity. Sorrow may remain, but anguish is stilled.

Mount Mark considered this a unique parsonage family. Their liveliness, their gaiety, their love of fun, seemed a little inapropos in the setting of a Methodist parsonage.

"They ain't sanctimonious enough by half," declared old Harvey Reel, the bus driver, "but, by Jings! I tell you they are dandies!"

But as a matter of fact, every one of the family, from Connie up, had a characteristic parsonage heart. When they were worried, or frightened, or grieved, they prayed. Fairy pa.s.sing up the stairs with hot water for the doctors, whispered to her father as he turned in to his own room, "Keep on praying, father. I can't stop now, because they need me. But I'm praying every minute between errands!" And Mr. Starr, kneeling beside his bed, did pray,--and the stony despair in his eyes died out, and he came from the little room quiet, and confident, and calm.

Connie had been unfortunate. In seeking a secluded corner to "pray for Prudence," she had pa.s.sed the door of the dungeon, and paused. A fitting place! So she turned in at once, drawing the door after her, but leaving it a couple of inches ajar. Then in the farthest and darkest corner, she knelt on the hard floor, and prayed, and sobbed herself to sleep. Fairy pa.s.sing through the hall, observed the door ajar, and gave it a slight push. The lock snapped into place, but Connie did not waken.

Lark remained loyally with Carol until consciousness returned to her.

As soon as she was able to walk, the two went silently to the barn, and climbed into the much-loved haymow. There they lay flat on the hay, faces downward, each with an arm across the other's shoulder, praying fervently. After a time they rose and crept into the house, where they waited patiently until Fairy came down on one of her numerous errands.

"Is she better?" they whispered. And Fairy answered gently, "I think she is a little better." Then the twins, in no way deceived, went back to the haymow again.

Fairy prepared a hasty supper, and arranged it on the kitchen table.

She drank a cup of hot coffee, and went in search of her father. "Go and eat, dadsie," she urged. But he shook his head.

"I am not hungry, but send the girls to the table at once."