A SECRET SOCIETY
Carol and Lark, in keeping with their twin-ship, were the dearest of
chums and comrades. They resembled each other closely in build, being
of the same height and size. They were slender, yet gave a suggestion
of sturdiness. Carol's face was a delicately tinted oval, brightened
by clear and sparkling eyes of blue. She was really beautiful, bright,
attractive and vivacious. She made friends readily, and was always
considered the "most popular girl in our crowd"--whatever Carol's crowd
at the time might be. But she was not extremely clever, caring little
for study, and with no especial talent in any direction. Lark was as
nearly contrasting as any sister could be. Her face was pale, her eyes
were dark brown and full of shadows, and she was a brilliant and
earnest student. For each other the twins felt a passionate devotion
that was very beautiful, but ludicrous as well.
To them, the great rambling barn back of the parsonage was a most
delightful place. It had a big cow-shed on one side, and horse stalls
on the other, with a "heavenly" haymow over all, and with "chutes" for
the descent of hay,--and twins! In one corner was a high dark crib for
corn, with an open window looking down into the horse stalls adjoining.
When the crib was newly filled, the twins could clamber painfully up on
the corn, struggle backward through the narrow window, and holding to
the ledge of it with their hands, drop down into the nearest stall. To
be sure they were likely to fall,--more likely than not,--and their
hands were splinter-filled and their heads blue-bumped most of the
time. But splinters and bumps did not interfere with their pursuit of
pleasure.
Now the twins had a Secret Society,--of which they were the founders,
the officers and the membership body. Its name was Skull and
Crossbones. Why that name was chosen perhaps even the twins themselves
could not explain, but it sounded deep, dark and bloody,--and so was
the Society. Lark furnished the brain power for the organization but
her sister was an enthusiastic and energetic second. Carol's club name
was Lady Gwendolyn, and Lark's was Sir Alfred Angelcourt ordinarily,
although subject to frequent change. Sometimes she was Lord Beveling,
the villain of the plot, and chased poor Gwendolyn madly through
corn-crib, horse stalls and haymow. Again she was the dark-browed
Indian silently stalking his unconscious prey. Then she was a fierce
lion lying in wait for the approaching damsel. The old barn saw
stirring times after the coming of the new parsonage family.
"Hark! Hark!" sounded a hissing whisper from the corn-crib, and
Connie, eavesdropping outside the barn, shivered sympathetically.
"What is it! Oh, what is it?" wailed the unfortunate lady.
"Look! Look! Run for your life!"
Then while Connie clutched the barn door in a frenzy, there was a sound
of rattling corn as the twins scrambled upward, a silence, a low thud,
and an unromantic "Ouch!" as Carol bumped her head and stumbled.
"Are you assaulted?" shouted the bold Sir Alfred, and Connie heard a
wild scuffle as he rescued his companion from the clutches of the old
halter on which she had stumbled. Up the haymow ladder they hurried,
and then slid recklessly down the hay-chutes. Presently the barn door
was flung open, and the "Society" knocked Connie flying backward, ran
madly around the barn a few times, and scurried under the fence and
into the chicken coop.
A little later, Connie, assailed with shots of corncobs, ran bitterly
toward the house. "Peaking" was strictly forbidden when the twins were
engaged in Skull and Crossbones activities.
And Connie's soul burned with desire. She felt that this secret
society was threatening not only her happiness, but also her health,
for she could not sleep for horrid dreams of Skulls and Crossbones at
night, and could not eat for envying the twins their secret and
mysterious joys. Therefore, with unwonted humility, she applied for
entrance. She had applied many times previously, without effect. But
this time she enforced her application with a nickel's worth of red
peppermint drops, bought for the very purpose. The twins accepted the
drops gravely, and told Connie she must make formal application. Then
they marched solemnly off to the barn with the peppermint drops,
without offering Connie a share. This hurt, but she did not long
grieve over it, she was so busy wondering what on earth they meant by
"formal application." Finally she applied to Prudence, and received
assistance.
The afternoon mail brought to the parsonage an envelope addressed to
"Misses Carol and Lark Starr, The Methodist Parsonage, Mount Mark,
Iowa," and in the lower left-hand corner was a suggestive drawing of a
Skull and Crossbones. The eyes of the mischievous twins twinkled with
delight when they saw it, and they carried it to the barn for prompt
perusal. It read as follows:
"Miss Constance Starr humbly and respectfully craves admittance into
the Ancient and Honorable Organization of Skull and Crossbones."
The twins pondered long on a fitting reply, and the next afternoon the
postman brought a letter for Connie, waiting impatiently for it. She
had approached the twins about it at noon that day.
"Did you get my application?" she had whispered nervously.
But the twins had stared her out of countenance, and Connie realized
that she had committed a serious breach of secret society etiquette.
But here was the letter! Her fingers trembled as she opened it. It
was decorated lavishly with skulls and crossbones, splashed with red
ink, supposedly blood, and written in the same suggestive color.
"Skull and Crossbones has heard the plea of Miss Constance Starr. If
she present herself at the Parsonage Haymow this evening, at eight
o'clock, she shall learn the will of the Society regarding her
petition."
Connie was jubilant! In a flash, she saw herself admitted to the
mysterious Barnyard Order, and began working out a name for her own
designation after entrance. It was a proud day for her.
By the time the twins had finished washing the supper dishes, it was
dark. Constance glanced out of the window apprehensively. She now
remembered that eight o'clock was very, very late, and that the barn
was a long way from the house! And up in the haymow, too! And such a
mysterious bloody society! Her heart quaked within her. So she
approached the twins respectfully, and said in an offhand way:
"I can go any time now. Just let me know when you're ready, and I'll
go right along with you."
But the twins stared at her again in an amazing and overbearing
fashion, and vouchsafed no reply. Connie, however, determined to keep
a watchful eye upon them, and when they started barnward, she would
trail closely along in their rear. It was a quarter to eight, and
fearfully dark, when she suddenly remembered that they had been
up-stairs an unnaturally long time. She rushed up in a panic. They
were not there. She ran through the house. They were not to be found.
The dreadful truth overwhelmed her,--the twins were already in the
haymow, the hour had come, and she must go forth.
Breathlessly, she slipped out of the back door, and closed it softly
behind her. She could not distinguish the dark outlines of the barn in
the equal darkness of the autumn night. She gave a long sobbing gasp
as she groped her way forward. As she neared the barn, she was
startled to hear from the haymow over her head, deep groans as of a
soul in mortal agony. Something had happened to the twins!
"Girls! Girls!" she cried, forgetting for the moment her own sorry
state. "What is the matter? Twins!"
Sepulchral silence! And Connie knew that this was the dreadful Skull
and Bones. Her teeth chattered as she stood there, irresolute in the
intense and throbbing darkness.
"It's only the twins," she assured herself over and over, and began
fumbling with the latch of the barn door,--but her fingers were stiff
and cold. Suddenly from directly above her, there came the hideous
clanking of iron chains. Connie had read ghost stories, and she knew
the significance of clanking chains, but she stood her ground in spite
of the almost irresistible impulse to fly. After the clanking, the
loud and clamorous peal of a bell rang out.
"It's that old cow bell they found in the field," she whispered
practically, but found it none the less horrifying.
Finally she stepped into the blackness of the barn, found the ladder
leading to the haymow and began slowly climbing. But her own weight
seemed a tremendous thing, and she had difficulty in raising herself
from step to step. She comforted herself with the reflection that at
the top were the twins,--company and triumph hand in hand. But when
she reached the top, and peered around her, she found little
comfort,--and no desirable company?
A small barrel draped in black stood in the center of the mow, and on
it a lighted candle gave out a feeble flickering ray which emphasized
the darkness around it. On either side of the black-draped barrel
stood a motionless figure, clothed in somber black. On the head of one
was a skull,--not a really skull, just a pasteboard imitation, but it
was just as awful to Connie. On the head of the other were crossbones.
"Kneel," commanded the hoarse voice of Skull, in which Connie could
faintly distinguish the tone of Lark.
She knelt,--an abject quivering neophyte.
"Hear the will of Skull and Crossbones," chanted Crossbones in a shrill
monotone.
Then Skull took up the strain once more. "Skull and Crossbones, great
in mercy and in condescension, has listened graciously to the prayer of
Constance, the Seeker. Hear the will of the Great Spirit! If the
Seeker will, for the length of two weeks, submit herself to the will of
Skull and Crossbones, she shall be admitted into the Ancient and
Honorable Order. If the Seeker accepts this condition, she must bow
herself to the ground three times, in token of submission."
"There's no ground here," came a small faint voice from the kneeling
Seeker.
"The floor, madam," Skull explained sternly. "If the Seeker accepts
the condition,--to submit herself absolutely to the will of Skull and
Crossbones for two entire weeks,--she shall bow herself three times."
Constance hesitated. It was so grandly expressed that she hardly
understood what they wanted. Carol came to her rescue.
"That means you've got to do everything Lark and I tell you for two
weeks," she said in her natural voice.
Then Constance bowed herself three times,--although she lost her
balance in the act, and Carol forgot her dignity and gave way to
laughter, swiftly subdued, however.
"Arise and approach the altar," she commanded in the shrill voice,
which yet gave signs of laughter.
Constance arose and approached.
"Upon the altar, before the Eternal Light, you will find a small black
bow, with a drop of human blood in the center. This is the badge of
your pledgedom. You must wear it day and night, during the entire two
weeks. After that, if all is well; you shall be received into full
membership. If you break your pledge to the Order, it must be restored
at once to Skull and Crossbones. Take it, and pin it upon your breast."
Constance did so,--and her breast heaved with rapture and awe in
mingling.
Then a horrible thing happened. The flame of the "Eternal Light" was
suddenly extinguished, and Carol exclaimed, "The ceremony is ended.
Return, damsel, to thine abode."
A sound of scampering feet,--and Constance knew that the Grand
Officials had fled, and she was alone in the dreadful darkness. She
called after them pitifully, but she heard the slam of the kitchen door
before she had even reached the ladder.
It was a sobbing and miserable neophyte who stumbled into the kitchen a
few seconds later. The twins were bending earnestly over their Latin
grammars by the side of the kitchen fire, and did not raise their eyes
as the Seeker burst into the room. Constance sat down, and gasped and
quivered for a while. Then she looked down complacently at the little
black bow with its smudge of red ink, and sighed contentedly.
The week that followed was a gala one for the twins of Skull and
Crossbones. Constance swept their room, made their bed, washed their
dishes, did their chores, and in every way behaved as a model pledge of
the Ancient and Honorable. The twins were gracious but firm. There
was no arguing, and no faltering. "It is the will of Skull and
Crossbones that the damsel do this," they would say. And the damsel
did it.
Prudence did not feel it was a case that called for her interference.
So she sat back and watched, while the twins told stories, read and
frolicked, and Constance did their daily tasks.
So eight days passed, and then came Waterloo. Constance returned home
after an errand downtown, and in her hand she carried a great golden
pear. Perhaps Constance would have preferred that she escape the
notice of the twins on this occasion, but as luck would have it, she
passed Carol in the hall.
"Gracious! What a pear! Where did you get it?" demanded Carol
covetously.
"I met Mr. Arnold down-town, and he bought it for me. He's very fond
of me. It cost him a dime, too, for just this one. Isn't it a
beauty?" And Connie licked her lips suggestively.
Carol licked hers, too, thoughtfully. Then she called up the stairs,
"Lark, come here, quick!"
Lark did so, and duly exclaimed and admired. Then she said
significantly, "I suppose you are going to divide with us?"
"Of course," said Connie with some indignation. "I'm going to cut it
in five pieces so Prudence and Fairy can have some, too."
A pause, while Carol and Lark gazed at each other soberly. Mentally,
each twin was figuring how big her share would be when the pear was
divided in fives. Then Lark spoke.
"It is the will of Skull and Crossbones that this luscious fruit be
turned over to them immediately."
Constance faltered, held it out, drew it back.
"If I do, I suppose you'll give me part of it, anyhow," she said, and
her eyes glittered.
"Not so, damsel," said Carol ominously. "The Ancient and Honorable
takes,--it never gives."
For a moment Constance wavered. Then she flamed into sudden anger. "I
won't do it, so there!" she cried. "I think you're mean selfish pigs,
that's what I think! Taking my very own pear, and--but you won't get
it! I don't care if I never get into your silly old society,--you
don't get a bite of this pear, I can tell you that!" And Constance
rushed up-stairs and slammed a door. A few seconds later the door
opened again, and her cherished badge was flung down upon Skull and
Crossbones.
"There's your old black string smeared up with red ink!" she yelled at
them wildly. And again the door slammed.
Carol picked up the insulted badge, and studied it thoughtfully. Lark
spoke first.
"It occurs to me, Fair Gwendolyn, that we would do well to keep this
little scene from the ears of the just and righteous Prudence."
"Right, as always, Brave Knight," was the womanly retort. And the
twins betook themselves to the haymow in thoughtful mood.
A little later, when Prudence and Fairy came laughing into the
down-stairs hall, a white-faced Constance met them. "Look," she said,
holding out a pear, divided into three parts, just like Gaul. "Mr.
Arnold gave me this pear, and here's a piece for each of you."
The girls thanked her warmly, but Prudence paused with her third almost
touching her lips. "How about the twins?" she inquired. "Aren't they
at home? Won't they break your pledge if you leave them out?"
Constance looked up sternly. "I offered them some half an hour ago,
and they refused it," she said. "And they have already put me out of
the society!" There was tragedy in the childish face, and Prudence put
her arms around this baby-sister.
"Tell Prue all about it, Connie," she said. But Constance shook her
head.
"It can't be talked about. Go on and eat your pear. It is good."
"Was it all right?" questioned Prudence. "Did the twins play fair,
Connie?"
"Yes," said Constance. "It was all right. Don't talk about it."
But in two days Constance repented of her rashness. In three days she
was pleading for forgiveness. And in four days she was starting in on
another two weeks of pledgedom, and the desecrated ribbon with its drop
of blood reposed once more on her ambitious breast.
For three days her service was sore indeed, for the twins informed her,
with sympathy, that she must be punished for insubordination. "But
after that, we'll be just as easy on you as anything, Connie," they
told her. "So don't you get sore now. In three days, we'll let up on
you."
A week passed, ten days, and twelve. Then came a golden October
afternoon when the twins sat in the haymow looking out upon a mellow
world. Constance was in the yard, reading a fairy story. The
situation was a tense one, for the twins were hungry, and time was
heavy on their hands.
"The apple trees in Avery's orchard are just loaded," said Lark
aimlessly. "And there are lots on the ground, too. I saw them when I
was out in the field this morning."
"Some of the trees are close to our fence, too," said Carol slowly.
"Very close."
Lark glanced up with sudden interest. "That's so," she said. "And the
wires on the fence are awfully loose."
Carol gazed down into the yard where Constance was absorbed in her
book. "Constance oughtn't to read as much as she does," she argued.
"It's so bad for the eyes."
"Yes, and what's more, she's been getting off too easy the last few
days. The time is nearly up."
"That's so," said Lark. "Let's call her up here." This was done at
once, and the unfortunate Constance walked reluctantly toward the barn,
her fascinating story still in her hand.
"You see, they've got more apples than they need, and those on the
ground are just going to waste," continued Carol, pending the arrival
of the little pledge. "The chickens are pecking at them, and ruining
them."
"It's criminal destruction, that's what it is," declared Lark.
Connie stood before them respectfully, as they had instructed her to
stand. The twins hesitated, each secretly hoping the other would voice
the order. But Lark as usual was obliged to be the spokesman.
"Damsel," she said, "it is the will of Skull and Crossbones that you
hie ye to yonder orchard,--Avery's, I mean,--and bring hither some of
the golden apples basking in the sun."
"What!" ejaculated Connie, startled out of her respect.
Carol frowned.
Connie hastened to modify her tone. "Did they say you might have
them?" she inquired politely.
"That concerns thee not, 'tis for thee only to render obedience to the
orders of the Society. Go out through our field and sneak under the
fence where the wires are loose, and hurry back. We're awfully hungry.
The trees are near the fence. There isn't any danger."
"But it's stealing," objected Connie. "What will Prudence----"
"Damsel!" And Connie turned to obey with despair in her heart.
"Bring twelve," Carol called after her, "that'll be four apiece. And
hurry, Connie. And see they don't catch you while you're about it."
After she had gone, the twins lay back thoughtfully on the hay and
stared at the cobwebby roof above them.
"It's a good thing Prudence and Fairy are downtown," said Lark sagely.
"Yes, or we'd catch it," assented Carol. "But I don't see why! The
Averys have too many apples, and they are going to waste. I'm sure
Mrs. Avery would rather let us have them than the chickens."
They lay in silence for a while. Something was hurting them, but
whether it was their fear of the wrath of Prudence, or the twinges of
tender consciences,--who can say?
"She's an unearthly long time about it," exclaimed Lark, at last. "Do
you suppose they caught her?"
This was an awful thought, and the girls were temporarily suffocated.
But they heard the barn door swinging beneath them, and sighed with
relief. It was Connie! She climbed the ladder skilfully, and poured
her golden treasure before the arch thieves, Skull and Crossbones.
There were eight big tempting apples.
"Hum! Eight," said Carol sternly. "I said twelve."
"Yes, but I was afraid some one was coming. I heard such a noise
through the grapevines, so I got what I could and ran for it. There's
three apiece for you, and two for me," said Connie, sitting down
sociably beside them on the hay.
But Carol rose. "Damsel, begone," she ordered. "When Skull and
Crossbones feast, thou canst not yet share the festive board. Rise
thee, and speed."
Connie rose, and walked soberly toward the ladder. But before she
disappeared she fired this parting shot, "I don't want any of them.
Stolen apples don't taste very good, I reckon."
Carol and Lark had the grace to flush a little at this, but however the
stolen apples tasted, the twins had no difficulty in disposing of them.
Then, full almost beyond the point of comfort, they slid down the
hay-chutes, went out the back way, climbed over the chicken coops,--not
because it was necessary, but because it was their idea of
amusement,--and went for a walk in the field. At the farthest corner
of the field they crawled under the fence, cut through a neighboring
potato patch, and came out on the street. Then they walked respectably
down the sidewalk, turned the corner and came quietly in through the
front door of the parsonage.
Prudence was in the kitchen preparing the evening meal. Fairy was in
the sitting-room, busy with her books. The twins set the table
conscientiously, filled the wood-box, and in every way labored
irreproachably. But Prudence had no word of praise for them that
evening. She hardly seemed to know they were about the place. She
went about her work with a pale face, and never a smile to be seen.
Supper was nearly ready when Connie sauntered in from the barn. After
leaving the haymow, she had found a cozy corner in the com-crib, with
two heavy lap robes discarded by the twins in their flight from wolves,
and had settled down there to finish her story. As she stepped into
the kitchen, Prudence turned to her with such a sorry, reproachful gaze
that Connie was frightened.
"Are you sick, Prue?" she gasped.
Prudence did not answer. She went to the door and called Fairy.
"Finish getting supper, will you, Fairy? And when you are all ready,
you and the twins go right on eating. Don't wait for father,--he isn't
coming home until evening. Come up-stairs with me, Connie; I want to
talk to you."
Connie followed her sister soberly, and the twins flashed at each other
startled and questioning looks.
The three girls were at the table when Prudence came into the
dining-room alone. She fixed a tray-supper quietly and carried it off
up-stairs. Then she came back and sat down by the table. But her face
bore marks of tears, and she had no appetite. The twins had felt small
liking for their food before, now each mouthful seemed to choke them.
But they dared not ask a question. They were devoutly thankful when
Fairy finally voiced their interest.
"What is the matter? Has Connie been in mischief?"
"It's worse than that," faltered Prudence, tears rushing to her eyes
again.
"Why, Prudence! What in the world has she done?"
"I may as well tell you, I suppose,--you'll have to know it sooner or
later. She--went out into Avery's orchard and stole some apples this
afternoon. I was back in the alley seeing if Mrs. Moon could do the
washing, and I saw her from the other side. She went from tree to
tree, and when she got through the fence she ran. There's no mistake
about it,--she confessed." The twins looked up in agony, but
Prudence's face reassured them. Constance had told no tales. "I have
told her she must spend all of her time up-stairs alone for a week,
taking her meals there, too. She will go to school, of course, but
that is all. I want her to see the awfulness of it. I told her I
didn't think we wanted to eat with--a thief--just yet! I said we must
get used to the idea of it first. She is heartbroken, but--I must make
her see it!"
That was the end of supper. No one attempted to eat another bite.
After the older girls had gone into the sitting-room, Carol and Lark
went about their work with stricken faces.
"She's a little brick not to tell," whispered Lark.
"I'm going to give her that pearl pin of mine she always liked," said
Carol in a hushed voice.
"I'll give her my blue ribbon, too,--she loves blue so. And to-morrow
I'll take that quarter I've saved and buy her a whole quarter's worth
of candy."
But that night when the twins went up to bed, they were doomed to
disappointment. They had no chance of making it up with Constance.
For Prudence had moved her small bed out of the twins' room, and had
placed it in the front room occupied by herself and Fairy. They asked
if they might speak to Constance, but Prudence went in with them to say
good night to her. The twins broke down and cried as they saw the
pitiful little figure with the wan and tear-stained face. They threw
their arms around her passionately and kissed her many times. But they
went to bed without saying anything.
Hours later, Lark whispered, "Carol! are you asleep?"
"No. I can't go to sleep somehow."
"Neither can I. Do you think we'd better tell Prudence all about it?"
Carol squirmed in the bed. "I--suppose we had," she said reluctantly.
"But--it'll be lots worse for us than for Connie," Lark added. "We're
so much older, and we made her do it."
"Yes, and we ate all the apples," mourned Carol.
"Maybe we'd better just let it go," suggested Lark.
"And we'll make it up to Connie afterwards," said Carol.
"Now, you be careful and not give it away, Carol."
"You see that you don't."
But it was a sorry night for the twins. The next morning they set off
to school, with no chance for anything but a brief good morning with
Connie,--given in the presence of Prudence. Half-way down the
parsonage walk, Carol said:
"Oh, wait a minute, Lark. I left my note-book on the table." And Lark
walked slowly while Carol went rushing back. She found Prudence in the
kitchen, and whispered:
"Here--here's a note, Prudence. Don't read it until after I've gone to
school,--at ten o'clock you may read it. Will you promise?"
Prudence laughed a little, but she promised, and laid the note
carefully away to wait the appointed hour for its perusal. As the
clock struck ten she went to the mantle, and took it down. This is
what Carol had written:
"Oh, Prudence, do please forgive me, and don't punish Connie any more.
You can punish me any way you like, and I'll be glad of it. It was all
my fault. I made her go and get the apples for me, and I ate them.
Connie didn't eat one of them. She said stolen apples would not taste
very good. It was all my fault, and I'm so sorry. I was such a coward
I didn't dare tell you last night. Will you forgive me? But you must
punish me as hard as ever you can. But please, Prudence, won't you
punish me some way without letting Lark know about it? Please, please,
Prudence, don't let Larkie know. You can tell Papa and Fairy so they
will despise me, but keep it from my twin. If you love me, Prudence,
don't let Larkie know."
As Prudence read this her face grew very stern. Carol's fault! And
she was ashamed to have her much-loved twin know of her disgrace. At
that moment, Prudence heard some one running through the hall, and
thrust the note hastily into her dress. It was Lark, and she flung
herself wildly upon Prudence, sobbing bitterly.
"What is the matter, Lark?" she tried, really frightened. "Are you
sick?"
"Heartsick, that's all," wailed Lark. "I told the teacher I was sick
so I could come home, but I'm not. Oh, Prudence, I know you'll despise
and abominate me all the rest of your life, and everybody will, and I
deserve it. For I stole those apples myself. That is, I made Connie
go and get them for me. She didn't want to. She begged not to. But I
made her. She didn't eat one of them,--I did it. And she felt very
badly about it. Oh, Prudence, you can do anything in the world to
me,--I don't care how horrible it is; I only hope you will. But,
Prudence, you won't let Carol know, will you? Oh, spare me that,
Prudence, please. That's my last request, that you keep it from Carol."
Prudence was surprised and puzzled. She drew the note from her pocket,
and gave it to Lark. "Carol gave me that before she went to school,"
she explained. "Read it, and tell me what you are driving at. I think
you are both crazy. Or maybe you are just trying to shield poor
Connie."
Lark read Carol's note, and gasped, and--burst out laughing! The
shame, and bitter weeping, and nervousness, had rendered her
hysterical, and now she laughed and cried until Prudence was alarmed
again.
In time, however, Lark was able to explain. "We both did it," she
gasped, "the Skull and Crossbones. And we both told the truth about
it. We made her go and get them for us, and we ate them, and she
didn't want to go. I advised Carol not to tell, and she advised me not
to. All the way to school this morning, we kept advising each other
not to say a word about it. But I intended all the time to pretend I
was sick, so I could come and confess alone. I wanted to take the
punishment for both of us, so Carol could get out. I guess that's what
she thought, too. Bless her little old heart, as if I'd let her he
punished for my fault. And it was mostly my fault, too, Prue, for I
mentioned the apples first of all."
Prudence laughed,--it was really ludicrous. But when she thought of
loyal little Connie, sobbing all through the long night, the tears came
to her eyes again. She went quickly to the telephone, and called up
the school building next door to the parsonage.
"May I speak to Constance Starr, Mr. Imes?" she asked. "It is very
important. This is Prudence, her sister." And when Connie came to the
telephone, she cried, "Oh, you blessed little child, why didn't you
tell me? Will you forgive me, Connie? I ought to have made you tell
me all about it, but I was so sorry, I couldn't bear to talk much about
it. The twins have told me. You're a dear, sweet, good little
darling, that's what you are."
"Oh, Prudence!" That was all Connie said, but something in her voice
made Prudence hang up the receiver quickly, and cry bitterly!
That noon Prudence pronounced judgment on the sinners, but her eyes
twinkled, for Carol and Lark had scolded each other roundly for giving
things away!
"Connie should have refused to obey you," she said gently, holding
Connie in her arms. "She knew it was wrong. But she has been punished
more than enough. But you twins! In the first place, I right now
abolish the Skull and Crossbones forever and ever. And you can not
play in the barn again for a month. And you must go over to the Averys
this afternoon, and tell them about it, and pay for the apples. And
you must send all of your spending money for the next month to that
woman who is gathering up things for the bad little children in the
Reform School,--that will help you remember what happens to boys and
girls who get in the habit of taking things on the spur of the moment!"
The twins accepted all of this graciously, except that which referred
to confessing their sin to their neighbors. That did hurt! The twins
were so superior, and admirable! They couldn't bear to ruin their
reputations. But Prudence stood firm, in spite of their weeping and
wailing. And that afternoon two shamefaced sorry girls crept meekly in
at the Averys' door to make their peace.
"But about the Skull and Crossbones, it's mostly punishment for me,
Prue," said Connie regretfully, "for the twins have been in it ever
since we came to Mount Mark, and I never got in at all! And I wanted
them to call me Lady Magdalina Featheringale." And Connie sighed.