“It really did hurt me, Prudence.  My dear little girl, how could you send Jerry away, breaking your heart and his, and ours, too,—­just because you thought us such a selfish lot that we would begrudge you any happiness of your own?  Don’t you think our love for you is big enough to make us happy in seeing you happy?  You used to say you would never marry.  We did not expect you to marry, then.  But we knew the time would come when marriage would seem beautiful and desirable to you.  We were waiting for that time.  We were hoping for it.  We were happy when you loved Jerry, because we knew he was good and kind and loving, and that he could give you all the beautiful things of life—­that I can never give my children.  But you thought we were too selfish to let you go, and you sent him away.”

“But father!  Who would raise the girls?  Who would keep the parsonage?  Who would look after you?”

“Aunt Grace, to be sure.  We talked it over two years ago, when her husband died.  Before that, she was not free to come to us.  But she said then that whenever we were ready for her, she would come.  We both felt that since you were getting along so magnificently with the girls, it was better that way for a while.  But she said that when your flitting-time came, she would come to us gladly.  We had it all arranged.  You won’t want to marry for a year or so, yet.  You’ll want to have some happy sweetheart days first.  And you’ll want to make a lot of those pretty, useless, nonsensical things other girls make when they marry.  That’s why I advised you to save your burglar money,—­so you would have it for this.  We’ll have Aunt Grace come right away, so you can take a little freedom to be happy, and to make your plans.  And you can initiate Aunt Grace into the mysteries of parsonage housekeeping.”

A bright strange light had flashed over Prudence’s face.  But her eyes clouded a little as she asked, “Do you think they would rather have Aunt Grace than me?”

“Of course not.  But what has that to do with it?  We love you so dearly that we can only be happy when you are happy.  We love you so dearly that we can be happy with you away from us,—­just knowing that you are happy.  But you—­you thought our love was such a hideous, selfish, little make-believe that——­”

“Oh, father, I didn’t!  You know I didn’t!—­But—­maybe Jerry won’t forgive me now?”

“Why didn’t you talk it over with me, Prudence?”

“I knew you too well, father.  I knew it would be useless. 
But—­doesn’t it seem wrong, father, that—­a girl—­that I—­should love
Jerry more than—­you and the girls?  That he should come first? 
Doesn’t it seem—­wicked?”

“No, Prudence, it is not wicked.  After all, perhaps it is not a stronger and deeper love.  You were willing to sacrifice him and yourself, for our sakes!  But it is a different love.  It is the love of woman for man,—­that is very different from sister-love and father-love.  And it is right.  And it is beautiful.”