"All right. Come in, Monday morning at eight, Lark, and I'll set you to work. It won't be anything very important. You can write up the church news, and parties, and goings away, and things like that. It'll be good training. You can study our papers between now and then, to catch our style." Carol lifted her head a little higher. If Mr. Raider thought her talented twin would be confined to the ordinary style of the _Daily News_, which Carol considered atrociously lacking in any style at all, he would be most gloriously mistaken, that's certain! It is a significant fact that after Mr. Raider went back into the sanctum of the _Daily News_, the twins walked along for one full block without speaking. Such a thing had never happened before in all the years of their twinship. At the end of the block, Carol turned her head restlessly. They were eight blocks from home. But the twins couldn't run on the street, it was so undignified. She looked longingly about for a buggy bound their way. Even a grocery cart would have been a welcome though humbling conveyance. Lark's starry eyes were lifted to the skies, and her rapt face was glowing. Carol looked behind her, looked ahead. Then she thought again of the eight blocks. "Lark," she said, "I'm afraid we'll be late for dinner. And auntie told us to hurry back. Maybe we'd better run." Running is a good expression for emotion, and Lark promptly struck out at a pace that did full credit to her lithe young limbs. Down the street they raced, little tendrils of hair flying about their flushed and shining faces, faster, faster, breathless, panting, their gladness fairly overflowing. And many people turned to look, wondering what in the world possessed the leisurely, dignified parsonage twins. The last block was traversed at a really alarming rate. The passion for "telling things" had seized them both, and they whirled around the corner and across the lawn at a rate that brought Connie out into the yard to meet them, with a childish, "What's the matter? What happened? Did something bite you?" Aunt Grace sat up in her hammock to look, Fairy ran out to the porch, and Mr. Starr laid down his book. Had the long and dearly desired war been declared at last? But when the twins reached the porch, they paused sheepishly, shyly. "What's the matter?" chorused the family. "Are--are we late for dinner?" Carol demanded earnestly, as though their lives depended on the answer. The family stared in concerted amazement. When before this had the twins shown anxiety about their lateness for meals--unless a favorite dessert or salad was all consumed in their absence. And it was only half past four! Carol gently shoved Connie off the cushion upon which she had dropped, and arranged it tenderly in a chair. "Sit down and rest, Larkie," she said in a soft and loving voice. "Are you nearly tired to death?" Lark sank, panting, into the chair, and gazed about the circle with brilliant eyes.