e off as well.

Lark was trembling.

"Carol," she whispered, "I--I'm scared."

Instantly the triumph left Carol's heart. "You're not," she whispered
passionately, gripping her twin's hand closely, "you are not, you're all
right."

Lark trembled more violently. Her head swayed a little. Bright flashes
of light were blinding her eyes, and her ears were ringing. "I--can't,"
she muttered thickly. "I'm sick."

Carol leaned close to her and began a violent train of conversation, for
the purpose of distracting her attention. Lark grew more pale.

"Recitation--Miss Lark Starr."

Again the applause rang out.

Lark did not move. "I can't," she whispered again. "I can't."

"Lark, Lark," begged Carol desperately. "You must go, you must. 'The
wind went drifting o'er the lea,'--it's easy enough. Go on, Lark. You
must."

Lark shook her head. "Mmmmm," she murmured indistinctly.

"Remember the parsonage," begged Carol. "Think of Prudence. Think of
papa. Look, there he is, right down there. He's expecting you, Lark. You
must!"

Lark tried to rise. She could not. She could not see her father's clear
encouraging face for those queer flashes of light.

"You can," whispered Carol. "You can do anything if you try. Prudence
says so."

People were craning their necks, and peering curiously up to the second
row where the twins sat side by side. The other performers nudged one
another, smiling significantly. The superintendent creaked heavily
across the platform and beckoned with one plump finger.

"I can't," Lark whispered, "I'm sick."

"Lark,--Lark," called the superintendent.

Carol sighed bitterly. Evidently it was up to her. With a grim face, she
rose from her chair and started out on the platform. The superintendent
stared at her, his lips parting. The people stared at her too, and
smiled, and then laughed. Panic-stricken, her eyes sought her father's
face. He nodded quickly, and his eyes approved.

"Good!" His lips formed the word, and Carol did not falter again. The
applause was nearly drowned with laughter as Carol advanced for her
second recitation.

"The wind went drifting o'er the lea," she began,--her voice drifting
properly on the words,--and so on to the end of the piece.

Most of the audience, knowing Lark's temperament, had concluded that
fear prevented her appearance, and understood that Carol had come to her
twin's rescue for the reputation of the parsonage. The applause was
deafening as she went back