Connie rose, and walked soberly toward the ladder.  But before she disappeared she fired this parting shot, “I don’t want any of them.  Stolen apples don’t taste very good, I reckon.”

Carol and Lark had the grace to flush a little at this, but however the stolen apples tasted, the twins had no difficulty in disposing of them.  Then, full almost beyond the point of comfort, they slid down the hay-chutes, went out the back way, climbed over the chicken coops,—­not because it was necessary, but because it was their idea of amusement,—­and went for a walk in the field.  At the farthest corner of the field they crawled under the fence, cut through a neighboring potato patch, and came out on the street.  Then they walked respectably down the sidewalk, turned the corner and came quietly in through the front door of the parsonage.

Prudence was in the kitchen preparing the evening meal.  Fairy was in the sitting-room, busy with her books.  The twins set the table conscientiously, filled the wood-box, and in every way labored irreproachably.  But Prudence had no word of praise for them that evening.  She hardly seemed to know they were about the place.  She went about her work with a pale face, and never a smile to be seen.

Supper was nearly ready when Connie sauntered in from the barn.  After leaving the haymow, she had found a cozy corner in the com-crib, with two heavy lap robes discarded by the twins in their flight from wolves, and had settled down there to finish her story.  As she stepped into the kitchen, Prudence turned to her with such a sorry, reproachful gaze that Connie was frightened.

“Are you sick, Prue?” she gasped.

Prudence did not answer.  She went to the door and called Fairy.  “Finish getting supper, will you, Fairy?  And when you are all ready, you and the twins go right on eating.  Don’t wait for father,—­he isn’t coming home until evening.  Come up-stairs with me, Connie; I want to talk to you.”

Connie followed her sister soberly, and the twins flashed at each other startled and questioning looks.

The three girls were at the table when Prudence came into the dining-room alone.  She fixed a tray-supper quietly and carried it off up-stairs.  Then she came back and sat down by the table.  But her face bore marks of tears, and she had no appetite.  The twins had felt small liking for their food before, now each mouthful seemed to choke them.  But they dared not ask a question.  They were devoutly thankful when Fairy finally voiced their interest.

“What is the matter?  Has Connie been in mischief?”

“It’s worse than that,” faltered Prudence, tears rushing to her eyes again.

“Why, Prudence!  What in the world has she done?”