“We—­we want something with a perfectly awful smell,” Lark explained soberly.

“What kind of a smell?”

“We don’t care what kind, but it must be perfectly sickening.  Like something rotten, or dead, if you have it.  Something that will stay smelly for several hours,—­but it mustn’t be dangerous, of course.”

“What do you want it for?”

“We want it to put in a room to give it a horrible smell for an hour or so.”  Lark winked at him solemnly.  “It’s a joke,” she further elucidated.

“I see.”  His eyes twinkled.  “I think I can fix you up.”  A moment later he handed her a small bottle.  “Just sprinkle this over the carpet.  It won’t do any harm, and it smells like thunder.  It costs a quarter.”

Carol frowned.  “I suppose we’ll have to take it,” she said, “but it’s pretty expensive.  I hate to have druggists get such a lot of money.”

He laughed aloud.  “I hate to have you get a good licking to-morrow, too,—­but you’ll get it just the same, or I miss my guess.”

When the twins arrived home, Fairy was just cutting the candy she had made.  “It’s delicious,” she said to Prudence.  “Here’s a nice dishful for you and the girls.—­Pitch in, twins, and help yourselves.  It’s very nice.”

The twins waved her haughtily away.  “No, thank you,” they said.  “We couldn’t eat that candy with relish.  We are unworthy.”

“All right,” Prudence put in quickly, as Fairy only laughed.  “I’ll put it in the cupboard, and Fairy and I will eat it to-morrow.  It’s perfectly fine,—­simply delicious.”

But the twins were not to be tempted.  Before they went up-stairs, Lark inquired sarcastically: 

“I suppose, Fairy, you’ll don your best blue silk in honor of this event?”

“Oh, no,” was the ready answer, “I’ll just wear my little green muslin.  It’s old, but very nice and comfortable—­just right for an evening at home.”

“Yes,” scoffed Carol, “and of course you are remembering that every one says it is the most becoming dress you have.”

“Oh, yes,” laughed Fairy, “I’m remembering that, all right.”

Then the twins went up-stairs, but not to their own room at once.  Instead they slipped noiselessly into the front bedroom, and a little later Carol came out into the hall and stood listening at the head of the stairs, as though on guard.

“Be sure and leave quite a few stitches in, Lark,” she whispered once.  “We want it to hang together until Babbie gets here.”

That was all.  Presently Lark emerged, and their own door closed behind them.

“It’s a good thing father has to go to the trustees’ meeting to-night, isn’t it?” asked Carol.  And Lark agreed, absently.  She was thinking of the oysters.

As soon as they finished supper, Lark said, “Don’t you think we’d better go right to bed, Prue?  We don’t want to taint the atmosphere of the parsonage.  Of course, Fairy will want to wash the dishes herself to make sure they are clean and shining.”