The pencil was moving again and the amused, attentive eyes were steadfastly following.

“The persons inside the coach were Mr. Miller; a clergyman, his son; a lawyer, Mr. Angelo; a foreigner, his lady, and a little child.”

Marjorie uttered an exclamation; it was so funny!

“Now, Mr. Miller’s son is a clergyman instead of himself, Mr. Angelo is a lawyer, and nobody knows whether he is a foreigner or not, and we don’t know the foreigner’s name, and he has a wife and child.”

Miss Prudence smiled over the young eagerness, and rewrote the sentence once again causing Mr. Angelo to cease to be a lawyer and giving the foreigner a wife but no little child.

“O, Miss Prudence, you’ve made the little thing an orphan all alone in a stage-coach all through the change of a comma to be a semi-colon!” exclaimed Marjorie in comical earnestness.  “I think punctuation means ever so much; it isn’t dry one bit,” she added, enthusiastically.

“You couldn’t enjoy Mrs. Browning very well without it,” smiled Miss Prudence.

“I never would know what the ‘Cry of the Children’ meant, or anything about Cowper’s grave, would I?  And if I punctuated it myself, I might not get all she meant.  I might make a meaning of my own, and that would be sad.”

“I think you do,” said Miss Prudence; “when I read it to you and the children, there were tears in your eyes, but the others said all they liked was my voice.”

“Yes,” said Marjorie, “but if somebody had stumbled over every line I shouldn’t have felt it so.  I know the good there is in studying elocution.  When Mr. Woodfern was here and read ’O, Absalom, my son!  My son, Absalom!’ everybody had tears in their eyes, and I had never seen tears about it before.  And now I know the good of punctuation.  I guess punctuation helps elocution, too.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” replied Miss Prudence, smiling at Marjorie’s air of having discovered something.  “Now, I’ll give you something to do while I close my eyes and think awhile.”

“Am I interrupting you?” inquired Marjorie in consternation.  “I didn’t know how I could any more than I can interrupt—­”

“God” was in her thought, but she did not give it utterance.

“I shall not allow you,” returned Miss Prudence, quietly.  “You will work awhile, and I will think and when I open my eyes you may talk to me about anything you please.  You are a great rest to me, child.”

“Thank you,” said the child, simply.

“You may take the paper and change the number of people, or relationship, or professions again.  I know it may be done.”

“I don’t see how.”

“Then it will give you really something to do.”