“I was just wondering if Connie wore her rubbers to school, and if father remembered to take his muffler.”

Fairy burst into renewed laughter.  “Oh, you precious, old, practical Prudence,” she gurgled.  “Rubbers and mufflers, with such a delicious snowfall as this!  Oh, Prudence, shame upon you.”

Prudence was ashamed.  “Oh, I know I am a perfect idiot, Fairy,” she said.  “I know it better than anybody else.  I am so ashamed of myself, all the time.”  Then she added rather shyly, “Fairy, are you ashamed of me sometimes?  When the college girls are here, and you are all talking so brilliantly, aren’t you kind of mortified that I am so stupid and dull?  I do not care if outsiders do think I am inferior to the rest of you, but—­really I do not want you to be ashamed of me!  I—­oh, I know it myself,—­that I do not amount to anything, and never will, but—­it would hurt if I thought you and the twins were going to find me—­humiliating.”  Prudence was looking at her sister hungrily, her lips drooping, her eyes dark.

For a long instant Fairy stared at her incredulously.  Then she sprang to her feet, her face white, her eyes blazing.

“Prudence Starr,” she cried furiously, “how dare you say such things of us?  Do you think we are as despicable as all that?  Oh, Prudence, I never was so insulted in all my life!  Ashamed of you!  Ashamed—­Why, we are proud of you, every one of us, daddy, too!  We think you are the finest and dearest girl that ever lived.  We think—­Oh, I think God Himself must be proud of a girl like you, Prudence Starr!  Ashamed of you!”

And Fairy, bursting into tears, rushed wildly out of the room.  For all her poetical nature, Fairy was usually self-restrained and calm.  Only twice before in all her life had Prudence seen her so tempest-tossed, and now, greatly disturbed, yet pleased at the passionate avowals, she hurried away in search of her sister.  She needed no more assurance of her attitude.

So the twins and Connie came into an empty room, and chattered away to themselves abstractedly for an hour.  Then Prudence came down.  Instantly Connie was asked the all-important question: 

“Are your feet wet?”

Connie solemnly took three steps across the room.  “Hear me sqush,” she said proudly.  She did sqush, too!

“Constance Starr, I am ashamed of you!  This is positively wicked.  You know it is a law of the Medes and Persians that you change your shoes and stockings as soon as you come in when your feet are wet.  Do it at once.  I’ll get some hot water so you can soak your feet, too.  And you shall drink some good hot peppermint tea, into the bargain.  I’ll teach you to sit around in wet clothes!  Do you think I want an invalid on my hands?”

“Oh, don’t be so fussy,” said Connie fretfully, “wet feet don’t do any harm.”  But she obligingly soaked her feet, and drank the peppermint.

“Are your feet wet, twins?”