Later in the day Prudence drew her aunt to one side and asked softly, "Was it much of a shock to you, Aunt Grace? The family drowned in soot to welcome you? I'm sure you expected to find everything trim and fresh and orderly. Was it a bitter disappointment?"

Aunt Grace smiled brightly. "Why, no, Prudence," she said in her slow even voice. "I really expected something to be wrong! I'd have been disappointed if everything had gone just right!"

CHAPTER II

SCIENCE AND HEALTH

After all, the advent of a chaperon made surprisingly little difference in the life of the parsonage family, but what change there was, was all to the good. Their aunt a.s.sumed no active directorate over household matters. She just slipped in, happily, un.o.btrusively, helpfully. She was a gentle woman, smiling much, saying little. Indeed, her untalkativeness soon became a matter of great merriment among the lively girls.

"A splendid deaf and dumb person was lost to the world in you, Aunt Grace," Carol a.s.sured her warmly. "I never saw a woman who could say so much in smiles, and be so expressive without words."

Fairy said, "She carries on a prolonged discussion, and argues and orates, without saying a word."

The members of the Ladies' Aid, who hastened to call, said, "She is perfectly charming--such a fine conversationalist!"

She was always attractively dressed, always self-possessed, always friendly, always good-natured, and the girls found her presence only pleasing. She relieved Prudence, admired Fairy, laughed at the twins, adored Connie. Between her and Mr. Starr there was a frank camaraderie, charming, but seldom found between brothers- and sisters-in-law.

"Of course, Aunt Grace," Prudence told her sweetly, "we aren't going to be selfish with you. We don't expect you to bury yourself in the parsonage. Whenever you want to trip away for a while, you must feel free to go. We don't intend to monopolize you, however much we want to do so. Whenever you want to go, you must go."

"I shan't want to go," said Aunt Grace quickly.

"Not right away, of course," Prudence agreed. "But you'll find our liveliness tiring. Whenever you do want to go--"

"I don't think I shall want to go at all," she answered. "I like it here. I--I like liveliness."

Then Prudence kissed her gratefully.

For several weeks after her initiation in the parsonage, life rolled along sweetly and serenely. There were only the minor, unavoidable mishaps and disciplinary measures common to the life of any family. Of course, there were frequent, stirring verbal skirmishes between Fairy and the twins, and between the twins and Connie. But these did not disturb their aunt. She leaned back in her chair, or among the cushions, listening gravely, but with eyes that always smiled.

Then came a curious lull.

For ten entire and successive days the twins had lived blameless lives.

Their voices rang out gladly and sweetly. They treated Connie with a sisterly tenderness and gentleness quite out of accord with their usual drastic discipline. They obeyed the word of Prudence with a cheerful readiness that was startlingly cherubimic. The most distasteful of orders called forth nothing stronger than a bright, "Yes, Prudence."

They no longer developed dangerous symptoms of physical disablement at times of unpleasant duties. Their devotion to the cause of health was beautiful. Not an ache disturbed them. Not a pain suggested a subst.i.tute.

Prudence watched them with painful solicitude. Her years of mothering had given her an almost supernatural intuition as to causes, and effects.

On Wednesday morning, Mr. Starr bade his family good-by and set out on a tour of Epworth League conventions. He was to be away from home until the end of the following week. A prospective Presbyterian theologian had been selected from the college to fill his pulpit on the Sabbath, and the girls, with their aunt, faced an unusually long period of running the parsonage to suit themselves.

At ten o'clock the train carried their father off in the direction of Burlington, and at eleven o'clock the twins returned to the parsonage.

They had given him a daughterly send-off at the station, and then gone to the library for books. Prudence, Fairy and Aunt Grace sat sewing on the side porch as they cut across the parsonage lawn, their feet crinkling pleasantly through the drift of autumn leaves the wind had piled beneath the trees.

"We're out of potatoes, twins," said Prudence, as they drew near.

"You'll have to dig some before dinner."

For one instant their complacent features clouded. Prudence looked up expectantly, sure of a break in their serene placidity.

One doubtful second, then--

"Certainly, Prudence," said Carol brightly.

And Lark added genially, "We'd better fill the box, I guess--so we'll have enough for the rest of the week."

And singing a light but unharmonic s.n.a.t.c.h of song, the twins went in search of basket and hoe.

The twins were not musical. They only sang from principle, to emphasize their light-heartedness when it needed special impressing.

Prudence's brows knitted in anxious frowns, and she sighed a few times.

"What is the matter, Prue? You look like a rainy Christmas," said Fairy.

"It's the twins," was the mournful answer.

"The twins!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Fairy. "Why, they've acted like angels lately."

Even Aunt Grace lifted mildly inquiring eyebrows.

"That's it!--That's just it. When the twins act like angels I get uneasy right away. The better they act, the more suspicious I feel."

"What have they been doing?"

"Nothing! Not a thing! That's why I'm worried. It must be something terrible!"

Fairy laughed and returned to her embroidery. Aunt Grace smiled and began plying her needles once more. But Prudence still looked troubled, and sighed often.

There was no apparent ground for her alarm. The twins came back with the potatoes, peeled some for luncheon, and set the table, their faces still bright and smiling. Prudence's eyes, often fastened upon their angelic countenances, grew more and more troubled.

In the afternoon, they joined the little circle on the porch, but not to sew. They took a book, and lay down on a rug with the book before them, reading together. Evidently they were all absorbed. An hour pa.s.sed, two hours, three. At times Carol pointed to a line, and said in a low voice, "That's good, isn't it?" And Lark would answer, "Dandy!--Have you read this?"

Prudence, in spite of her devotion to the embroidering of large S's on a.s.sorted pieces of linen, never forgot the twins for a moment.

"What are you reading?" she asked at last aimlessly, her only desire to be rea.s.sured by the sound of their voices.

There was an almost imperceptible pause. Then Carol answered,--her chin was in her palms which may have accounted for the mumbling of the words.

"_Scianceanelth._"

"What?"

Another pause, a little more perceptible this time. "_Science and Health_," Carol said at last, quite distinctly.

"_Science and Health_," Prudence repeated, in a puzzled tone. "Is it a doctor book?"

"Why--something of the sort,--yes," said Carol dubiously.