"Get her a drink, can't you, Connie?" said Carol indignantly. "Can't you see the poor thing is just tired to death? She ran the whole way home!" Still the family stared. The twins' devotion to each other was never failing, but this attentiveness on the part of Carol was extremely odd. Now she sat down on the step beside her sister, and gazed up into the flushed face with adoring, but somewhat patronizing, pride. After all, she had had a whole lot to do with training Larkie! "What in the world?" began their father curiously. "Had a sunstroke?" queried Fairy, smiling. "You're both crazy," declared Connie, coming back with the water. "You're trying to fool us. I won't ask any questions. You don't catch me this time." "Why don't you lie down and let Lark use you for a footstool, Carol?" suggested their father, with twinkling eyes. "I would if she wanted a footstool," said Carol positively. "I'd love to do it. I'd be proud to do it. I'd consider it an honor." Lark blushed and lowered her eyes modestly. "What happened?" urged their father, still more curiously. "Did she get you out of a scrape?" mocked Fairy. "Oh, just let 'em alone," said Connie. "They think it's smart to be mysterious. Nothing happened at all. That's what they call being funny." "Tell it, Lark." Carol's voice was so intense that it impressed even skeptical Connie and derisive Fairy. Lark raised the glowing eyes once more, leaned forward and said thrillingly: "It's the Literary Career." The silence that followed this bold announcement was sufficiently dramatic to satisfy even Carol, and she patted Lark's knee approvingly. "Well, go on," urged Connie, at last, when the twins continued silent. "That's all." "She's going to run the _Daily News_." "Oh, I'll only be a cub reporter, I guess that's what you call them." "Reporter nothing," contradicted Carol. "There's nothing literary about that. You must take the whole paper in hand, and color it up a bit. And for goodness' sake, polish up Mr. Raider's editorials. I could write editorials like his myself." "And you might tone down the family notes for him," suggested Fairy. "We don't really care to know when Mrs. Kelly borrows eggs of the editor's wife and how many dolls Betty got for Christmas and Jack's grades in high school. We can get along without those personal touches." "Maybe you can give us a little church write-up now and then, without necessitating Mr. Raider as chairman of every committee," interposed their father, and then retracted quickly. "I was only joking, of course, I didn't mean--" "No, of course, you didn't, father," said Carol kindly. "We'll consider that you didn't say it. But just bear it in mind, Larkie." Fairy solemnly rose and crossed the porch, and with a hand on Lark's shoulder gave her a solemn shake. "Now, Lark Starr, you begin at the beginning and tell us. Do you think we're all wooden Indians? We can't wait until you make a newspaper out of the _Daily News_! We want to know. Talk."