Chapter 14

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 knob 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 passing 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?

Mr. Starr, too, had tried. "Prudence," he said gently, "you know very often men do things that to women seem wrong and wicked. And maybe they are! But men and women are different by nature, my dear, and we must remember that. I have satisfied myself that Jerry is good, and clean, and manly. I do not think you should let any foolishness of his in the past, come between you now."

"You are mistaken, father. Jerry is all right, and always was, I am sure. It is nothing like that. I told him to go, and not to come again. That is all."

"But if he should come back now----"

"It would be just the same. Don't worry about it, father. It's all right."

"Prudence," he said, more tenderly, "we have been the closest of friends and companions, you and I, from the very beginning. Always you have come to me with your troubles and worries. Have I ever failed you? Why, then, do you go back on me now, when you really need me?"

Prudence patted his shoulder affectionately, but her eyes did not meet his. "I do not really need you now, father. It is all settled, and I am quite satisfied. Things are all right with me just as they are."

Then he took a serious step, without her knowledge. He went to Des Moines, and had a visit with Jerry. He found him thinner, his face sterner, his eyes darker. When the office boy announced "Mr. Starr," Jerry ran quickly out to greet him.

"Is she all right?" he cried eagerly, almost before he was within hailing distance.

Mr. Starr did not mince matters. "Jerry," he said abruptly, "did you and Prudence have a quarrel? She declines to tell me anything about it, and after the conversations you and I have had, I think I have a right to know what has happened."

"Does she miss me? Does she seem sorry that I am away? Does----" His voice was so boyish and so eager there was no mistaking his attitude toward Prudence.

"Look here, Jerry, I want to know. Why are you staying away?"

"Won't Prudence tell you?"

"No."

"Then I can not. She made me promise not to tell you a word. But it is not my fault, Mr. Starr. I can tell you that. It is nothing I have done or said. She sent me away because she thinks it was right for her to do so, and--you know Prudence! It is wrong, I know. I knew it all the time. But I couldn't make her see it. And she made me promise not to tell."

In the end Mr. Starr went back to the parsonage no wiser than he left, save that he now knew that Jerry was really not to blame, and that he held himself ready to return to her on a moment's notice.

The Ladies of the Methodist church were puzzled and exasperated. They went to the parsonage, determined to "find out what's what." But when they sat with Prudence, and looked at the frail, pathetic little figure, with the mournful eyes,---they could only sigh with her and go their ways.

The twins continued to play in the great maple, even when the leaves were fallen, "It's a dandy place, I tell you, Prudence," cried Carol. "Jerry didn't have time to put up the rope before Connie pulled him down, but we've fixed it ourselves, and it is simply grand. You can go up and swing any time you like,--unless your joints are too stiff! It's a very serious matter getting up there,---for stiff joints, of course, I mean. Lark and I get up easy enough."

For a moment, Prudence sat silent with quivering lips. Then she burst out with unusual passion, "Don't you ever dare climb up in that tree again as long as you live, twins! Mind what I say!"

Lark looked thoughtfully out of the window, and Carol swallowed hard. It was she who said gently, "Why, of course, Prue,--just as you say."

For the first time, Prudence had dealt with them harshly and unfairly. They knew it. There was neither sense nor justice in her command. But they did not argue the point. They kept their eyes considerately away from her, and buried themselves in _Julius Caesar_,--it must be remembered the twins are sophomores now. Five minutes later Prudence spoke again, humbly.

"I beg you pardon, twins,--that was a perfectly idiotic thing for me to say. Of course, you may play in the maple whenever you like. But be careful. You couldn't save yourselves in falling as--as men can."

"We won't play there if you want us not to," said Carol kindly.

"I do want you to play there," she answered. "It's a very nice place, and great fun, I know. I might try it myself if--my joints weren't so stiff! Now, go on with your Latin."

But Prudence did not pass under the maple for many weeks without clenching her hands, and shuddering.

The twins were not satisfied. They marveled, and wondered, and pondered over the subject of Jerry's disappearance. Finally they felt it was more than human flesh could stand. They would approach Prudence on the subject themselves. But they bided their time. They must wait until Fairy was safely out of the house. Fairy these days had an infuriating way of saying, "That will do, twins. You'd better go and play now." It enraged and distracted the twins almost to the point of committing crime.

They had made several artistic moves already. Professor Duke, of their freshman biology class, had written Carol a gay long letter. And Carol was enthusiastic about it. She and Lark talked of "dear old Duck" for two weeks, almost without pausing for sleep.

"I'm sure you would fall in love with him on the spot," Carol had said to Prudence suggestively.

Prudence had only smiled, evidently in sarcasm!

"Jerry was very nice,--oh, very nice,--but you ought to see our little Duck!" Carol rattled rashly. "I'm sure you wouldn't regret Jerry any more if you could just get hold of Duckie. Of course, his being in New York is an obstacle, but I could introduce you by mail."

"I do not care for Ducks," said Prudence. "Of course, they look very nice swimming around on the water, but when it comes to eating,--I'll take spring chicken every time."

Carol did not mention "Duck" again for three days.

But there came a day when Fairy was out in the country. Connie had gone driving with her father. The moment had arrived. The twins had their plan of campaign memorized, and they sauntered in to Prudence with a nonchalance that was all assumed.

"Prudence," Lark began, "we're writing a book."

"That's nice," said Prudence. Conversation languished. The subject seemed exhausted.

Carol came to the rescue. "It's a very nice book. It's a love-story, and perfectly thrilling. Larkie does the writing, but I criticize and offer suggestions."

"That's kind of you."

A pause.

"I'm going to dedicate it to Carol,--To my beloved sister, to whose kindness and sympathy, I owe all that I am,--or something like that," Lark explained hopefully.

"How proud Carol will be!"

A long pause.

"We're in a very critical place just now, though," Lark seemed to be commencing at the beginning once more. "We have our heroine in a very peculiar situation, and we can't think what to do with her next."

"How sad."

Another pause.

"We thought maybe you could help us out."

"I'm afraid not," Prudence smiled a little. "I haven't any imagination. Ask Fairy. She's strong on love-stories."

"Maybe if we explain the situation to you, you could give us a suggestion. It is like this: The young people have had all kinds of thrilling experiences, but they are not yet betrothed. But they are just on the point of getting there,--and something crops up all of a sudden! The hero goes dashing away, and returns no more. The heroine lies upon her silken couch, weeping, weeping. And no one knows what to do about it, because no one knows what has happened. What do you suppose could have sent the lover away like that?"

"Maybe he hasn't enough money for the heroine."

"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 authoress 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 passionately, 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 amusements. 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 balls, 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.