“Now, just be real sociable and tell me all about yourself, and the others, too,” urged Mrs. Adams.  “I want to know all about every one of you.  Tell me everything.”

“There isn’t much to tell,” said Prudence, smiling.  “There are five of us; I am the oldest, I am nineteen.  Then comes Fairy, then the twins, and then the baby.”

“Are the twins boys, or a boy and a girl?”

“Neither,” said Prudence, “they are both girls.”

“More girls!” gasped Mrs. Adams.  “And the baby?”

“She is a girl, too.”  And Prudence laughed.  “In short, we are all girls except father.  He couldn’t be, of course,—­or I suppose he would, for our family does seem to run to girls.”

“Prudence is a very nice name for a minister’s daughter,” said Mrs. Adams suggestively.

“Yes,—­for some ministers’ daughters,” assented Prudence.  “But is sadly unsuitable for me.  You see, father and mother were very enthusiastic about the first baby who hadn’t arrived.  They had two names all picked out months ahead,—­Prudence and John Wesley.  That’s how I happen to be Prudence.  They thought, as you do, that it was an uplifting name for a parsonage baby.—­I was only three years old when Fairy was born, but already they realized that they had made a great mistake.  So they decided to christen baby number two more appropriately.  They chose Frank and Fairy,—­both light-hearted, happy, cheerful names.—­It’s Fairy,” Prudence smiled reflectively.  “But things went badly again.  They were very unlucky with their babies.  Fairy is Prudence by nature, and I am Fairy.  She is tall and a little inclined to be fat.  She is steady, and industrious, and reliable, and sensible, and clever.  In fact, she is an all-round solid and worthwhile girl.  She can do anything, and do it right, and is going to be a college professor.  It is a sad thing to think of a college professor being called Fairy all her life, isn’t it?  Especially when she is so dignified and grand.  But one simply can’t tell beforehand what to expect, can one?

“Father and mother were quite discouraged by that time.  They hardly knew what to do.  But anyhow they were sure the next would be a boy.  Every one predicted a boy, and so they chose a good old Methodist name,—­Charles.  They hated to give it John Wesley, for they had sort of dedicated that to me, you know,—­only I happened to be Prudence.  But Charles was second-best.  And they were very happy about it, and—­it was twin girls!  It was quite a blow, I guess.  But they rallied swiftly, and called them Carol and Lark.  Such nice musical names!  Father and mother were both good singers, and mother a splendid pianist.  And Fairy and I showed musical symptoms early in life, so they thought they couldn’t be far wrong that time.  It was a bitter mistake.  It seemed to turn the twins against music right from the start.  Carol can carry a tune if there’s a strong voice beside her, but Lark can hardly tell the difference between Star Spangled Banner and Rock of Ages.