“Train going east!”

The minister stood back from the crowd, but when the train came pounding in a brightness leaped into his eyes that entirely changed the expression of his face.  A slender girl stood in the vestibule, leaning dangerously outward, and waving wildly at him a small gloved hand.  When the train stopped she leaped lightly from the steps, ignoring the stool placed for her feet by the conductor.

“Father!” she cried excitedly and small and slight as she was, she elbowed her way swiftly through the gaping crowd.  “Oh, father!” And she flung her arms about him joyously, unconscious of the admiring eyes of the Adams Express man, and the telegraph operator, and old Harvey Reel, whose eyes were always admiring when girls passed by.  She did not even observe that the Slaughterhouse Quartette looked at her unanimously, with languid interest from out the wreaths of smoke they had created.

Her father kissed her warmly.  “Where is your baggage?” he asked, a hand held out to relieve her.

“Here!” And with a radiant smile she thrust upon him a box of candy and a gaudy-covered magazine.

“Your suit-case,” he explained patiently.

“Oh!” she gasped.  “Run, father, run!  I left it on the train!”

Father did run, but Prudence, fleeter-footed, out-distanced him and clambered on board, panting.

When she rejoined her father her face was flushed.  “Oh, father,” she said quite snappily, “isn’t that just like me?”

“Yes, very like,” he agreed, and he smiled.  “Where is your umbrella?”

Prudence stopped abruptly.  “I don’t know,” she said, with a stony face.  “I can’t remember a blessed thing about the old umbrella.  Oh, I guess I didn’t bring it, at all.”  She breathed long in her relief.  “Yes, that’s it, father, I left it at Aunt Grace’s.  Don’t you worry about it.  Fairy’ll bring it to-morrow.  Isn’t it nice that we can count on Fairy’s remembering?”

“Yes, very nice,” he said, but his eyes were tender as he looked down at the little figure beside him.

“And so this is Mount Mark!  Isn’t it a funny name, father?  Why do they call it Mount Mark?”

“I don’t know.  I hadn’t thought to inquire.  We turn here, Prudence; we are going north now.  This is Main Street.  The city part of the town—­the business part—­is to the south.”

“It’s a pretty street, isn’t it?” she cried.  “Such nice big maples, and such shady, porchy houses.  I love houses with porches, don’t you?  Has the parsonage a porch?”

“Yes, a big one on the south, and a tiny one in front.  The house faces west.  That is the college there.  It opens in three weeks, and Fairy can make freshmen all right, they tell me.  I wish you could go, too.  You haven’t had your share of anything—­any good thing, Prudence.”