“Right, as always, Brave Knight,” was the womanly retort.  And the twins betook themselves to the haymow in thoughtful mood.

A little later, when Prudence and Fairy came laughing into the down-stairs hall, a white-faced Constance met them.  “Look,” she said, holding out a pear, divided into three parts, just like Gaul.  “Mr. Arnold gave me this pear, and here’s a piece for each of you.”

The girls thanked her warmly, but Prudence paused with her third almost touching her lips.  “How about the twins?” she inquired.  “Aren’t they at home?  Won’t they break your pledge if you leave them out?”

Constance looked up sternly.  “I offered them some half an hour ago, and they refused it,” she said.  “And they have already put me out of the society!” There was tragedy in the childish face, and Prudence put her arms around this baby-sister.

“Tell Prue all about it, Connie,” she said.  But Constance shook her head.

“It can’t be talked about.  Go on and eat your pear.  It is good.”

“Was it all right?” questioned Prudence.  “Did the twins play fair, Connie?”

“Yes,” said Constance.  “It was all right.  Don’t talk about it.”

But in two days Constance repented of her rashness.  In three days she was pleading for forgiveness.  And in four days she was starting in on another two weeks of pledgedom, and the desecrated ribbon with its drop of blood reposed once more on her ambitious breast.

For three days her service was sore indeed, for the twins informed her, with sympathy, that she must be punished for insubordination.  “But after that, we’ll be just as easy on you as anything, Connie,” they told her.  “So don’t you get sore now.  In three days, we’ll let up on you.”

A week passed, ten days, and twelve.  Then came a golden October afternoon when the twins sat in the haymow looking out upon a mellow world.  Constance was in the yard, reading a fairy story.  The situation was a tense one, for the twins were hungry, and time was heavy on their hands.

“The apple trees in Avery’s orchard are just loaded,” said Lark aimlessly.  “And there are lots on the ground, too.  I saw them when I was out in the field this morning.”

“Some of the trees are close to our fence, too,” said Carol slowly.  “Very close.”

Lark glanced up with sudden interest.  “That’s so,” she said.  “And the wires on the fence are awfully loose.”

Carol gazed down into the yard where Constance was absorbed in her book.  “Constance oughtn’t to read as much as she does,” she argued.  “It’s so bad for the eyes.”

“Yes, and what’s more, she’s been getting off too easy the last few days.  The time is nearly up.”

“That’s so,” said Lark.  “Let’s call her up here.”  This was done at once, and the unfortunate Constance walked reluctantly toward the barn, her fascinating story still in her hand.