He smiled, but it was a sober smile.  “You said it was true that you did not wish me to be—­fond of you.  Why?  Don’t you like me then, after all?”

Now, he realized that this was a perfectly insane conversation, but for the life of him, he couldn’t help it.  Prudence was so alluring, and the sky was so warmly blue, the sunshine so mild and hazy, and the roadside so gloriously gay with colors!  Who could have sense on such a day, with such a girl as this?

“Oh, I do like you very much indeed,” declared Prudence.  “It’s a big relief, too, for I didn’t expect to—­oh, I beg your pardon again, but—­well, I was scared when Fairy told me how remarkable you are.  I didn’t want to disgrace the parsonage, and I knew I would.  But—­why, the reason I do not want you to fall in love with me,—­that’s very different from being fond of me, I do want you to be that,—­but when people fall in love, they get married.  I’m not going to get married, so it would be silly to fall in love, wouldn’t it?”

He laughed heartily at the matter-of-factness with which this nineteen-year-old girl disposed of love and marriage.  “Why aren’t you going to be married?” he inquired, foolishly happy, and showing more foolishness than happiness, just as we all do on such occasions.

“Well, it will be ten or eleven years before Connie is fairly raised.”

“Yes, but you won’t be a Methuselah, in eleven years,” he smiled.

“No, but you forget father.”

“Forget father!  Are you raising him, too?”

“No, I’m not raising him, but I’m managing him.”  But when he laughed, she hastened to add, “That is, I take care of him, and keep house for him, and remind him of things he forgets.”  Then with girlish honesty, she added, “Though I must confess that he has to remind me of things I forget, oftener than I do him.  I inherited my forgetfulness from father.  I asked him once if he inherited his from grandfather, and he said he forgot whether grandfather was forgetful or not!  Father is very clever.  So’s Fairy.  And the twins are the smartest little things you ever saw,—­and Connie, too.  Connie is the oddest, keenest child.  She’s wonderful.  They all are,—­but me.  It’s kind of humiliating to be the only stupid one in a family of smart folks.  I suppose you’ve no idea how it feels, and I can’t explain it.  But sometimes I think maybe I ought to go off and die, so the whole family can shine and sparkle together.  As it is, there’s just a dull glow from my corner, quite pale and ugly compared with the brilliant gleams the others are sending out.”

Said Professor Rayburn, “Ah, Prudence, the faint, sweet mellow glows are always beautiful.  Not sparkling, perhaps, not brilliant!  But comforting, and cheering, and—­always to be trusted.  It’s just these little corner-glows, like yours, that make life worth living.”

This was rather deep for Prudence, but she felt instinctively that he was complimenting her.  She thanked him sweetly, and said, “And after all, I do not really mind being the stupid one.  I think it’s rather fun, for then I can just live along comfortably, and people do not expect much of me.  It would wear me all out to be as clever as Fairy, or as witty as Carol, or as studious as Lark.  But I am most tremendously proud of them, I assure you.”