"Well, I'll wager my soul, if that sounds more like Shakespeare. Don't go, Jim, we're not fighting. This is just the way Fairy and I make love to each other. You're perfectly welcome to stay, but be careful of your grammar, for now that Fairy's a senior--will be next year, if she lives--she even tries to teach father the approved method of doing a ministerial sneeze in the pulpit." "Think I'd better go," decided the tall good-looking youth, laughing as he looked with frank boyish admiration into Carol's sparkling face. "With Fairy after my grammar, and you to criticize my manner and my morals, I see right now that a parsonage is no safe place for a farmer's son." And laughing again, he thrust his cap into his pocket, and walked quickly out the new cement parsonage walk. But at the gate he paused to call back, "Don't make a mistake, Carol, and use the heathen's pennies for candy." The girls on the porch laughed, and five pairs of eyes gazed after the tall figure rapidly disappearing. "He's nice," said Prudence. "Yes," assented Carol. "I've got a notion to marry him after a little. That farm of his is worth about ten thousand." "Are you going to wait until he asks you?" "Certainly not! Anybody can marry a man after he asks her. The thing to do, if you want to be really original and interesting, is to marry him before he asks you and surprise him." "Yes," agreed Lark, "if you wait until he asks you he's likely to think it over once too often and not ask you at all." "Doesn't that sound exactly like a book, now?" demanded Carol proudly. "Fairy couldn't have said that!" "No," said Fairy, "I couldn't. Thank goodness!--I have what is commonly known as brains. Look it up in the dictionary, twins. It's something you ought to know about." "Oh, Prudence," cried Lark dramatically, "I forgot to tell you. You can't get married after all." For ten seconds Prudence, as well as Fairy and their aunt, stared in speechless amazement. Then Prudence smiled. "Oh, can't I? What's the joke now?" "Joke! It's no joke. Carol's sick, that's what's the joke. You can't be married without Carol, can you?" A burst of gay laughter greeted this announcement. "Carol sick! She acts sick!" "She looks sick!" "Where is she sick?" Carol leaned limply back against the pillar, trying to compose her bright face into a semblance of illness. "In my tummy," she announced weakly. This called forth more laughter. "It's her conscience," said Fairy. "It's matching pennies. Maybe she swallowed one." "It's probably those two pieces of pie she ate for dinner, and the one that vanished from the pantry shortly after," suggested Aunt Grace. Carol sat up quickly. "Welcome home, Aunt Grace!" she cried. "Did you have a pleasant visit?" "Carol," reproved Prudence.