By the evening of the Sunday-school concert--they were concerting for the sake of a hundred-dollar subscription to church repairs--Lark had mastered her recitation so perfectly that the minds of the parsonage were nearly at peace. She still felt a deep resentment toward the situation, but this was partially counterbalanced by the satisfaction of seeing her name in print, directly beneath Carol's on the program. "Recitation_______________Miss Carol Starr. Recitation_______________Miss Lark Starr." It looked very well indeed, and the whole family took a proper interest in it. No one gave Carol's recitation a second thought. She always recited, and did it easily and well. It was quite a commonplace occurrence for her. On the night of the concert she superintended Lark's dressing with maternal care. "You look all right," she said, "just fine. Now don't get scared, Lark. It's so silly. Remember that you know all those people by heart, you can talk a blue streak to any of them. There's no use--" "But I can't talk a blue streak to the whole houseful at once," Lark protested. "It makes me have such a--hollow feeling--to see so many white faces gazing up, and it's hot, and--" "Stop that," came the stern command. "You don't want to get cold feet before you start. If you do accidentally forget once or twice, don't worry. I know the piece as well as you do, and I can prompt you from behind without any one noticing it. At first it made me awfully cross when they wanted us reciters to sit on the platform for every one to stare at. But now I'm glad of it. I'll be right beside you, and can prompt you without any trouble at all. But you won't forget." She kissed her. "You'll do fine, Larkie, just as fine as you look, and it couldn't be better than that." Just then Connie ran in. "Fairy wants to know if you are getting stage fright, Lark? My, you do look nice! Now, for goodness' sake, Lark, remember the parsonage, and don't make a fizzle of it." "Who says fizzle?" demanded their father from the doorway. "Never say die, my girl. Why, Lark, I never saw you look so sweet. You have your hair fixed a new way, haven't you?" "Carol did it," was the shy reply. "It does look nice, doesn't it? I'm not scared, father, not a bit--yet! But there's a hollow feeling--" "Get her an apple, Connie," said Carol. "It's because she didn't eat any supper. She's not scared." "I don't want an apple. Come on, let's go down. Have the boys come?" "No, but they'll be here in a minute. Jim's never late. I do get sore at Jim--I'd forty times rather go with him than Hartley--but he always puts off asking us until the last minute and then I have a date and you get him. I believe he does it on purpose. Come on down." Aunt Grace looked at the pale sweet face with gratified delight, and kissed her warmly. Her father walked around her, nodding approval.