you good to read it, Connie. Read it again and again,
and thank God, my child, that though you are only a girl, you have the
very thing this man, this genius, was craving. We admire his talent, but
we pity his weakness. You will feel sorry for him. You read it, too,
Carol. You'll like it. We can't understand it, as I say, because we are
so sure of our God, that we can't feel what he felt, having nothing. But
we can feel the heart-break, the fear, the shrinking back from the
Providence that he called Fate,--of course it makes you want to cry,
Connie. It is the saddest poem in the world."

Connie's eyes were very bright. She winked hard a few times, choking
back the rush of tears. Then with an impulsiveness she did not often
show, she lifted her father's hand and kissed it passionately.

"Oh, father," she whispered, "I was so afraid--you wouldn't quite see."
She kissed his hand again.

Carol looked at her sister respectfully. "Connie," she said, "I
certainly beg your pardon. I just wanted to be clever, and didn't know
what I was talking about. When you have finished it, give it to me,
will you? I want to read it, too; I think it must be wonderful."

She held out a slender shapely hand and Connie took it quickly,
chummily, and the two girls turned toward the door.

"The danger in reading things," said Mr. Starr, and they paused to
listen, "the danger is that we may find arguments we can not answer; we
may feel that we have been in the wrong, that what we read is right.
There's the danger. Whenever you find anything like that, Connie, will
you bring it to me? I think I can find the answer for you. If I don't
know it, I will look until I come upon it. For we have been given an
answer to every argument. You'll come to me, won't you?"

"Yes, father, I will--I know you'll find the answers."

After the door had closed behind them, Mr. Starr sat for a long time
staring straight before him into space.

"The Connie problem," he said at last. And then, "I'll have to be better
pals with her. Connie's going to be pretty fine, I believe."

CHAPTER XIV

BOOSTING CONNIE

Connie was past fifteen when she announced gravely one day, "I've
changed my mind. I'm going to be an author."

"An author," scoffed Carol. "You! I thought you were going to get
married and have eleven children." Even with the dignity of nineteen
years, the nimble wits of Carol and Lark still struggled with the
irreproachable gravity of Connie.

"