“What now?” Miss Prudence asked.  “Morris, this girl is an enthusiast!”

She was standing behind Marjorie’s chair and touched her hair as she spoke.

“Oh, have you heard it all?” cried Marjorie, springing up.

“No, I came in this instant; I only heard that Morris must not decide hastily, but tell me all about it, which is certainly good advice, and while we are at breakfast Morris shall tell me.”

“I can’t, before Prue,” said Morris.

“Then we will have a conference immediately afterward.  Deborah’s muffins must not wait or she will be cross, and she has made muffins for me so many years that I can’t allow her to be cross.”

Morris made an attempt to be his usual entertaining self at the breakfast table, then broke down suddenly.

“Miss Prudence, I’m so full of something that I can’t talk about anything else.”

“I’m full of something too,” announced Prue.  “Aunt Prue, when am I going to Marjorie’s school.”

“I have not decided, dear.”

“Won’t you please decide now to let me go to-day?” she pleaded.

Miss Prudence was sure she had never “spoiled” anybody, but she began to fear that this irresistible little coaxer might prove a notable exception.

“I must think about it awhile, little one.”

“Would I like it, Marjorie, at your school?”

“I am sure of it.”

“I never went to school.  The day I went with you it was ever so nice.  I want a copy-book and a pile of books, and I want the girls to call me ‘Miss Holmes.’”

“We can do that,” said Miss Prudence, gravely.  “Morris, perhaps Miss Holmes would like another bit of steak.”

“That isn’t it,” said Prue, shaking her curls.

“Not genuine enough?  How large is your primary class, Marjorie?”

“Twenty, I think.  And they are all little ladies.  It seems so comical to me to hear the girls call the little ones ‘Miss.’  Alice Dodd is younger than Prue, and Master McCosh says ‘Miss Dodd’ as respectfully as though she were in the senior class.”

“Why shouldn’t he?” demanded Prue.  “Miss Dodd looked at me in church Sunday; perhaps I shall sit next to her.  Do the little girls come in your room, Marjorie?”

“At the opening of school, always, and you could come in at intermissions.  We have five minute intermissions every hour, and an hour at noon.”

“O, Aunt Prue!  When shall I go?  I wish I could go to-day!  You say I read almost well enough.  Marjorie will not be ashamed of me now.”

“I’d never be ashamed of you,” said Marjorie, warmly.

“Papa said I must not say my name was ‘Jeroma,’ shall I write it Prue Holmes, Aunt Prue?”

“Prue J. Holmes!  How would that do?”

But Miss Prudence spoke nervously and did not look at the child.  Would she ever have to tell the child her father’s story?  Would going out among the children hasten that day?