She was telling the “whole story,” for perhaps the fifteenth time that morning, but she broke off when her father hurried in and flung her arms about him.  “Oh, papa,” she cried, “they mustn’t praise me.  I had no idea there was a burglar in the house when I ran down the stairs, and if I hadn’t been careless and left the dungeon unlocked the money would have been in no danger, and if the twins hadn’t wakened me I wouldn’t have known there was a burglar about the place, and if Fairy hadn’t kept me from rushing out to the dungeon to see if the money was safe, he would have got away, and—­it took the policemen to get him out.  Oh, I know that is not very grammatical, father, but it’s just as true as if it were!  And I honestly can’t see that much credit is due me.”

But Mount Mark did not take it so calmly.  And as for the Methodist church,—­well, the Presbyterian people used to say there was “no living with those Methodists, since the girls caught a burglar in the parsonage.”  Of course, it was important, from the Methodist point of view.  Pictures of the parsonage and the church were in all the papers for miles around, and at their very next meeting the trustees decided to get the piano the Sunday-school had been needing for the last hundred years!

When the five hundred dollars arrived from Chicago, Prudence felt that personally she had no real right to the money.  “We must divide it,” she insisted, “for I didn’t earn it a bit more than any of the others.  But it is perfectly glorious to have five hundred dollars, isn’t it?  Did you ever have five hundred dollars before?  Just take it, father, and use it for whatever we need.  It’s family money.”

But he would not hear of this.  “No,” he said, “put it in the bank, Prudence, for there will come a time when you will want money very badly.  Then you will have it.”

“Let’s divide it then,—­a hundred for each of us,” she urged.

Neither the younger girls nor their father would consent to this.  But when Prudence stood very firm, and pleaded with them earnestly, they decided to divide it.

“I will deposit two hundred and fifty dollars for the four younger ones,” he said, “and that will leave you as much.”

So it was settled, and Prudence was a happy girl when she saw it safely put away in the bank.

“We can get it whenever we really need it, you know,” she told her father joyfully.  “It’s such a comfort to know it’s there!  I feel just like a millionaire, I am sure.  Do you think it would be all right to send Limber-Limb Grant a letter of thanks for it?  We were horribly scared, but—­well, I for one am willing to be horribly scared for such a lot of money as that!”

CHAPTER XI

ROMANCE COMES