He had thrown open the door, and Prudence stood upon the threshold of her new home.  It was not a fashionable building, by any means.  The hall was narrow and long, and the staircase was just a plain businesslike staircase, with no room for cushions, and flowers, and books.  The doors leading from the hall were open, and Prudence caught a glimpse of three rooms furnished, rather scantily, in the old familiar furniture that had been in that other parsonage where Prudence was born, nineteen years before.

Together she and her father went from room to room, up-stairs and down, moving a table to the left, a bed to the right,—­according to her own good pleasure.  Afterward they had a cozy luncheon for two in the “dining-room.”

“Oh, it is so elegant to have a dining-room,” breathed Prudence happily.  “I always pretended it was rather fun, and a great saving of work, to eat and cook and study and live in one room, but inwardly the idea always outraged me.  Is that the school over there?”

“Yes, that’s where Connie will go.  There is only one high school in Mount Mark, so the twins will have to go to the other side of town,—­a long walk, but in good weather they can come home for dinner.—­I’m afraid the kitchen will be too cold in winter, Prudence,—­it’s hardly more than a shed, really.  Maybe we’d——­”

“Oh, father, if you love me, don’t suggest that we move the stove in here in winter!  I’m perfectly willing to freeze out there, for the sake of having a dining-room.  Did I ever tell you what Carol said about that kitchen-dining-room-living-room combination at Exminster?  Well, she asked us a riddle, ‘When is a dining-room not a dining-room?’ And she answered it herself, ‘When it’s a little pig-pen.’  And I felt so badly about it, but it did look like a pig-pen, with stove here, and cupboard there, and table yonder, and—­oh, no, father, please let me freeze!”

“I confess I do not see the connection between a roomful of furniture and a pig-pen, but Carol’s wit is often too subtle for me.”

“Oh, that’s a lovely place over there, father!” exclaimed Prudence, looking from the living-room windows toward the south.  “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Yes.  The Avery family lives there.  The parents are very old and feeble, and the daughters are all—­elderly—­and all school-teachers.  There are four of them, and the youngest is forty-six.  It is certainly a beautiful place.  See the orchard out behind, and the vineyard.  They are very wealthy, and they are not fond of children outside of school hours, I am told, so we must keep an eye on Connie.—­Dear me, it is two o’clock already, and I must go at once.  Mrs. Adams will be here in a few minutes, and you will not be lonely.”

But when Mrs. Adams arrived at the parsonage, she knocked repeatedly, and in vain, upon the front door.  After that she went to the side door, with no better result.  Finally, she gathered her robes about her and went into the back yard.  She peered into the woodshed, and saw no one.  She went into the barn-lot, and found it empty.  In despair, she plunged into the barn—­and stopped abruptly.