“I may as well tell you, I suppose,—­you’ll have to know it sooner or later.  She—­went out into Avery’s orchard and stole some apples this afternoon.  I was back in the alley seeing if Mrs. Moon could do the washing, and I saw her from the other side.  She went from tree to tree, and when she got through the fence she ran.  There’s no mistake about it,—­she confessed.”  The twins looked up in agony, but Prudence’s face reassured them.  Constance had told no tales.  “I have told her she must spend all of her time up-stairs alone for a week, taking her meals there, too.  She will go to school, of course, but that is all.  I want her to see the awfulness of it.  I told her I didn’t think we wanted to eat with—­a thief—­just yet!  I said we must get used to the idea of it first.  She is heartbroken, but—­I must make her see it!”

That was the end of supper.  No one attempted to eat another bite.  After the older girls had gone into the sitting-room, Carol and Lark went about their work with stricken faces.

“She’s a little brick not to tell,” whispered Lark.

“I’m going to give her that pearl pin of mine she always liked,” said Carol in a hushed voice.

“I’ll give her my blue ribbon, too,—­she loves blue so.  And to-morrow I’ll take that quarter I’ve saved and buy her a whole quarter’s worth of candy.”

But that night when the twins went up to bed, they were doomed to disappointment.  They had no chance of making it up with Constance.  For Prudence had moved her small bed out of the twins’ room, and had placed it in the front room occupied by herself and Fairy.  They asked if they might speak to Constance, but Prudence went in with them to say good night to her.  The twins broke down and cried as they saw the pitiful little figure with the wan and tear-stained face.  They threw their arms around her passionately and kissed her many times.  But they went to bed without saying anything.

Hours later, Lark whispered, “Carol! are you asleep?”

“No.  I can’t go to sleep somehow.”

“Neither can I. Do you think we’d better tell Prudence all about it?”

Carol squirmed in the bed.  “I—­suppose we had,” she said reluctantly.

“But—­it’ll be lots worse for us than for Connie,” Lark added.  “We’re so much older, and we made her do it.”

“Yes, and we ate all the apples,” mourned Carol.

“Maybe we’d better just let it go,” suggested Lark.

“And we’ll make it up to Connie afterwards,” said Carol.

“Now, you be careful and not give it away, Carol.”

“You see that you don’t.”

But it was a sorry night for the twins.  The next morning they set off to school, with no chance for anything but a brief good morning with Connie,—­given in the presence of Prudence.  Half-way down the parsonage walk, Carol said: 

“Oh, wait a minute, Lark.  I left my note-book on the table.”  And Lark walked slowly while Carol went rushing back.  She found Prudence in the kitchen, and whispered: