look, wondering what in
the world possessed the leisurely, dignified parsonage twins.

The last block was traversed at a really alarming rate. The passion for
"telling things" had seized them both, and they whirled around the
corner and across the lawn at a rate that brought Connie out into the
yard to meet them, with a childish, "What's the matter? What happened?
Did something bite you?"

Aunt Grace sat up in her hammock to look, Fairy ran out to the porch,
and Mr. Starr laid down his book. Had the long and dearly desired war
been declared at last?

But when the twins reached the porch, they paused sheepishly, shyly.

"What's the matter?" chorused the family.

"Are--are we late for dinner?" Carol demanded earnestly, as though their
lives depended on the answer.

The family stared in concerted amazement. When before this had the twins
shown anxiety about their lateness for meals--unless a favorite dessert
or salad was all consumed in their absence. And it was only half past
four!

Carol gently shoved Connie off the cushion upon which she had dropped,
and arranged it tenderly in a chair.

"Sit down and rest, Larkie," she said in a soft and loving voice. "Are
you nearly tired to death?"

Lark sank, panting, into the chair, and gazed about the circle with
brilliant eyes.

"Get her a drink, can't you, Connie?" said Carol indignantly. "Can't you
see the poor thing is just tired to death? She ran the whole way home!"

Still the family stared. The twins' devotion to each other was never
failing, but this attentiveness on the part of Carol was extremely odd.
Now she sat down on the step beside her sister, and gazed up into the
flushed face with adoring, but somewhat patronizing, pride. After all,
she had had a whole lot to do with training Larkie!

"What in the world?" began their father curiously.

"Had a sunstroke?" queried Fairy, smiling.

"You're both crazy," declared Connie, coming back with the water.
"You're trying to fool us. I won't ask any questions. You don't catch me
this time."

"Why don't you lie down and let Lark use you for a footstool, Carol?"
suggested their father, with twinkling eyes.

"I would if she wanted a footstool," said Carol positively. "I'd love to
do it. I'd be proud to do it. I'd consider it an honor."

Lark blushed and lowered her eyes modestly.

"What happened?" urged their father, still more curiously.

"Did she get you out of a scrape?" mocked Fairy.

"Oh, just let 'e