“Yes, I can grasp that,” he said with feeling.

“Is Des Moines just full of beautiful girls?”

“I should say not.  I never saw a real beautiful girl in Des Moines in my life.  Or any place else, for that matter,—­until I came—­You know when you come right down to it, there are mighty few girls that look—­just the way you want them to look.”

Prudence nodded.  “That’s the way with men, too.  Of all the men I have seen in my life, I never saw one before that looked just the way I wanted him to.”

“Before?” he questioned eagerly.

“Yes,” said Prudence frankly.  “You look just as I wish you to.”

And in the meanwhile, at the parsonage, Fairy was patiently getting breakfast.  “Prudence went out for an early bicycle ride,—­so the members wouldn’t catch her,” she explained to the family.  “And she isn’t back yet.  She’ll probably stay out until afternoon, and then ride right by the grocery store where the Ladies have their Saturday sale.  That’s Prudence, all over.  Oh, father, I did forget your eggs again, I am afraid they are too hard.  Here, twins, you carry in the oatmeal, and we will eat.  No use to wait for Prudence,—­it would be like waiting for the next comet.”

Indeed, it was nearly noon when a small, one-horse spring wagon drove into the parsonage yard.  Mr. Starr was in his study with a book, but he heard a piercing shriek from Connie, and a shrill “Prudence!” from one of the twins.  He was downstairs in three leaps, and rushing wildly out to the little rickety wagon.  And there was Prudence!

“Don’t be frightened, father.  I’ve just sprained my ankle, and it doesn’t hurt hardly any.  But the bicycle is broken,—­we’ll have to pay for it.  You can use my own money in the bank.  Poor Mr. Davis had to walk all the way to town, because there wasn’t any room for him in the wagon with me lying down like this.  Will you carry me in?”

Connie’s single bed was hastily brought downstairs, and Prudence deposited upon it.  “There’s no use to put me up-stairs,” she assured them.  “I won’t stay there.  I want to be down here where I can boss the girls.”

The doctor came in, and bandaged the swollen purple ankle.  Then they had dinner,—­they tried to remember to call it luncheon, but never succeeded!  After that, the whole parsonage family grouped about the little single bed in the cheery sitting-room.

“Whose coat is this, Prudence?” asked Connie.

“And where in the world did you get these towels and silk shirts?” added Fairy.

Prudence blushed most exquisitely.  “They are Mr. Harmer’s,” she said, and glanced nervously at her father.

“Whose?” chorused the family.  And it was plain to be seen that Lark was ready to take mental notes with an eye to future stories.

“If you will sit down and keep still, I will tell you all about it.  But you must not interrupt me.  What time is it, Fairy?”