"Of course, Prudence, we know it would nearly break father's heart for us to go back on our own church,--but don't you think if folks become truly convinced that Christian Science is the true and good religion, they ought to stand by it and suffer,--just like the martyrs of old?" suggested Lark,--and the suggestion brought the doubt-clouds thick about Prudence's head once more. "We may not be convinced, of course," added Carol, "but there is something rather--assuring--about it." "Oh, twins," Prudence cried earnestly, but stopped as she caught again the slight suggestive movement of Fairy's left eyelash. "Well, let it go for this afternoon," she said, her eyes intent on Fairy's face. "I must think it over." The twins, with apparent relish, returned to their perusal of the book. Fairy rose almost immediately and went into the house, coming back a moment later with her hat and gloves. "I'm going for a stroll, Prue," she said. "I'll be back in time for supper." Prudence gazed yearningly after her departing back. She felt a great need of help in this crisis, and Fairy's nonchalance was sometimes very soothing. Aunt Grace was a darling, of course, but she had long ago disclaimed all responsibility for the rearing of the twins. It was two hours later when Fairy came back. Prudence was alone on the porch. "Where are the twins?" asked Fairy softly. "Up-stairs," was the whispered reply. "Well?" Then Fairy spoke more loudly, confident that the twins, in their up-stairs room, could hear every word she said. "Come up-stairs, Prue. I want to talk this over with you alone." And then she whispered, "Now, you just take your cue from me, and do as I say. The little sinners! We'll teach them to be so funny!" In their own room she carefully closed the door and smiled, as she noted a creaking of the closet door on the twins' side of the wall. Eavesdropping was not included among the cardinal sins in the twins' private decalogue, when the conversation concerned themselves.