“Such a Fairy!” gasped Miss Millicent, and the others echoed the gasp, but wordlessly.

For Fairy for very nearly as tall as her father, built upon generous lines, rather commanding in appearance, a little splendid-looking.  Even from their windows they could discern something distinctly Juno-like in this sixteen-year-old girl, with the easy elastic stride that matched her father’s, and the graceful head, well carried.  A young goddess,—­named Fairy!

Behind them, laughing and chattering, like three children, as they were,—­came the twins with Prudence, each with an arm around her waist.  And Prudence was very little taller than they.  When they reached the fence that bordered the parsonage, the scene for a moment resembled a miniature riot.  The smaller girls jumped and exclaimed, and clasped their hands.  Fairy leaned over the fence, and stared intently at this, their parsonage home.  Then the serious little girl scrambled under the fence, followed closely by the lithe-limbed twins.  A pause, a very short one,—­and then Prudence, too, was wriggling beneath the fence.

“Hold the wire up for me, papa,” cried Fairy, “I’m too fat.”  And a second later she was running gracefully across the lawn toward the parsonage.  The Methodist minister laughed boyishly, and placing his hands on the fence-post, he vaulted lightly over, and reached the house with his daughters.  Then the Misses Avery, school-teachers, and elderly, looked at one another.

“Did you ever?” whispered the oldest Miss Avery, and the others slowly shook their heads.

Now, think!  Did you ever see a rector jumping a three-wire fence, and running full speed across his front yard, in pursuit of a flying family?  It may possibly have occurred,—­we have never seen it.  Neither had the Misses Avery.  Nor did they ever expect to.  And if they had seen it, it is quite likely they would have joined the backsliders at that instant.

But without wasting much time on this gruesome thought, they hurried to a window commanding the best view of the parsonage, and raised it.  Then they clustered behind the curtains, and watched, and listened.  There was plenty to hear!  From the parsonage windows came the sound of scampering feet and banging doors.  Once there was the unmistakable clatter of a chair overturned.  With it all, there was a constant chorus of “Oh, look!” “Oh!  Oh!” “Oh, how sweet!” “Oh, papa!” “Oh, Prudence!” “Look, Larkie, look at this!”

Then the thud of many feet speeding down the stairs, and the slam of a door, and the slam of a gate.  The whole parsonage-full had poured out into the back yard, and the barn-lot.  Into the chicken coop they raced, the minister ever close upon their heels.  Over the board fence they clambered to the big rambling barn, and the wide door swung closed after them.  But in a few seconds they were out once more, by the back barn door, and over the fence, and on to the “field.”  There they closed ranks, with their arms recklessly around whoever was nearest, and made a thorough tour of the bit of pasture-land.  For some moments they leaned upon the dividing fence and gazed admiringly into the rich orchard and vineyard of the Avery estate.  But soon they were skipping back to the parsonage again, and the kitchen door banged behind them.