For ten entire and successive days the twins had lived blameless lives. Their voices rang out gladly and sweetly. They treated Connie with a sisterly tenderness and gentleness quite out of accord with their usual drastic discipline. They obeyed the word of Prudence with a cheerful readiness that was startlingly cherubimic. The most distasteful of orders called forth nothing stronger than a bright, "Yes, Prudence." They no longer developed dangerous symptoms of physical disablement at times of unpleasant duties. Their devotion to the cause of health was beautiful. Not an ache disturbed them. Not a pain suggested a substitute. Prudence watched them with painful solicitude. Her years of mothering had given her an almost supernatural intuition as to causes, and effects. On Wednesday morning, Mr. Starr bade his family good-by and set out on a tour of Epworth League conventions. He was to be away from home until the end of the following week. A prospective Presbyterian theologian had been selected from the college to fill his pulpit on the Sabbath, and the girls, with their aunt, faced an unusually long period of running the parsonage to suit themselves. At ten o'clock the train carried their father off in the direction of Burlington, and at eleven o'clock the twins returned to the parsonage. They had given him a daughterly send-off at the station, and then gone to the library for books. Prudence, Fairy and Aunt Grace sat sewing on the side porch as they cut across the parsonage lawn, their feet crinkling pleasantly through the drift of autumn leaves the wind had piled beneath the trees. "We're out of potatoes, twins," said Prudence, as they drew near. "You'll have to dig some before dinner." For one instant their complacent features clouded. Prudence looked up expectantly, sure of a break in their serene placidity. One doubtful second, then-- "Certainly, Prudence," said Carol brightly. And Lark added genially, "We'd better fill the box, I guess--so we'll have enough for the rest of the week." And singing a light but unharmonic snatch of song, the twins went in search of basket and hoe. The twins were not musical. They only sang from principle, to emphasize their light-heartedness when it needed special impressing. Prudence's brows knitted in anxious frowns, and she sighed a few times. "What is the matter, Prue? You look like a rainy Christmas," said Fairy. "It's the twins," was the mournful answer. "The twins!" ejaculated Fairy. "Why, they've acted like angels lately." Even Aunt Grace lifted mildly inquiring eyebrows. "That's it!--That's just it. When the twins act like angels I get uneasy right away. The better they act, the more suspicious I feel." "What have they been doing?" "Nothing! Not a thing! That's why I'm worried. It must be something terrible!" Fairy laughed and returned to her embroidery. Aunt Grace smiled and began plying her needles once more. But Prudence still looked troubled, and sighed often.