“Once there was a handsome young man, named Archibald Tremaine,—­a very respectable young fellow.  He wouldn’t so much as dream of robbing, or murdering, or dying.”

Then Prudence smiled to herself in the dark and hurried down.

The family had been in the new parsonage only three weeks, when a visiting minister called on them.  It was about ten minutes before the luncheon hour at the time of his arrival.  Mr. Starr was in the country, visiting, so the girls received him alone.  It was an unfortunate day for the Starrs.  Fairy had been at college all morning, and Prudence had been rummaging in the attic, getting it ready for a rainy-day and winter playroom for the younger girls.  She was dusty, perspirey and tired.

The luncheon hour arrived, and the girls came in from school, eager to be up and away again.  Still the grave young minister sat discoursing upon serious topics with the fidgety Prudence,—­and in spite of dust and perspiration, she was good to look upon.  The Reverend Mr. Morgan realized that, and could not tear himself away.  The twins came in, shook hands with him soberly, glancing significantly at the clock as they did so.  Connie ran in excitedly, wanting to know what was the matter with everybody, and weren’t they to have any luncheon?  Still Mr. Morgan remained in his chair, gazing at Prudence with frank appreciation.  Finally Prudence sighed.

“Do you like sweet corn, Mr. Morgan?”

This was entirely out of the line of their conversation, and for a moment he faltered.  “Sweet corn?” he repeated.

“Yes, roasting-ears, you know,—­cooked on the cob.”

Then he smiled.  “Oh, yes indeed.  Very much,” he said.

“Well,” she began her explanation rather drearily, “I was busy this morning and did not prepare much luncheon.  We are very fond of sweet corn, and I cooked an enormous panful.  But that’s all we have for luncheon,—­sweet corn and butter.  We haven’t even bread, because I am going to bake this afternoon, and we never eat it with sweet corn, anyhow.  Now, if you care to eat sweet corn and butter, and canned peaches, we’d just love to have you stay for luncheon with us.”

The Reverend Mr. Morgan was charmed, and said so.  So Prudence rushed to the kitchen, opened the peaches in a hurry, and fished out a clean napkin for their guest.  Then they gathered about the table, five girls and the visiting minister.  It was really a curious sight, that table.  In the center stood a tall vase of goldenrod.  On either side of the vase was a great platter piled high with sweet corn, on the cob!  Around the table were six plates, with the necessary silverware, and a glass of water for each.  There was also a small dish of peaches at each place, and an individual plate of butter.  That was all,—­except the napkins.  But Prudence made no apologies.  She was a daughter of the parsonage!  She showed the Reverend Mr. Morgan to his place as graciously and sweetly as though she were ushering him in to a twenty-seven course banquet.