Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 44, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 February 1917 — PRUDENCE OF THE PARSONAGE. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

PRUDENCE OF THE PARSONAGE.

by LTHEL HUESTON

ILLUSTRATED BY w. c . Tan nerzc

CHAPTER Vll—Continued. Mr. Starr on Thursday morning had taken the early eastbound train to Burlington. He attended the evangelistic services at the tabernacle in the afternoon and evening, and then went to bed at the hotel. He slept late the next morning. When he finally appeared the elerk caine at once from behind the desk to speak to him. Two or three other guests, who had been lounging about, drew near. “We’ve just been reading about your girls.sir,” said the clerk respectfully. “It’sapre ttynervy lit tle bun cli! You must be proud of them!” “My girls!” ejaculated Mr. Starr. “Haven’t you seen the morning paper? You’re Mr. Starr, the Methodist minister at Mount Mark, aren’t you?” “I am! But what has happened to my girls? Is anything wrong? Give me the paper!” Five minutes later Mr. Starr and his suitcase were ,jn a taxicab speeding toward Union station, and within eight minutes he was en route for Mount Mark—white in the face, shaky in the knees, but tremendously proud in ■ - - ----- —zd Arriving at Mount Mark, hC was instantly surrounded, by an exclamatory crowd of station loungers. The name of Prudence was upon every tongue, and her father heard it with satisfaction. In the parsonage he found at least two-thirds ofXhe-Ladies’ Aid sodety, the trustees andlhe _Supdili’t_ school superintendent, along with a miscellaneous assortment of ordinary members, mixed up with Presbyterians, Baptists and a few unclassified outsiders. And Prudence was -the c'enter of attraction. She was telling the “whole story,” for perhaps the fifteenth time that morning, but she'Uroke’"(rtf when her father hurried in and flung her arms about him. “Oh, papa,” she cried, “they mustn't praise me. I had no idea there was a burglar in the house when I ran down the stairs, and I honestly can't see that much credit is due me.”

But Mount Mark did not take it so calmly. And as for the Methodist church—well, the Presbyterian people used to say there was “no living with those Methodists, since the girls caught ■~aTsuFgrat fVf'Totrrsw it was important, from the Methodist point- -of—yiew.-—Pmtures _ of - the parsonage and the church were in all the_ ~ pajpers for "miles around, and at theirvery next meeting the trustees decided to get the piano the Sunday school had been needing for the last hundred years! When the five hundred dollars arrived from Oiieago, Prudent felt that personally she had no real right to the money. “We must divide it,” she insisted, “for I didn’t earn it a hit more —than—any--of the -others.—But -it—imperfectly glorious to have five hundred dollars, isn’t it? Did you ever have five hundred dollars before? Just take it, fathei< and use it for whatever we need. It’s family money.” Neither the younger girls nor their father would consent to this. But when Prudence pleaded with them earnestly, they decided to divide it. “I will deposit two hundred and fifty dollars for the four younger ones,” he said, “and that will leave you as much.” So it was settled, and Prudence was - a -happy girl when she saw it safely put away in the bank. CHAPTER VIII. Romance Comes. Sometimes. Methodists, or Presbyterians, or heretics—whatever we may he—Ave are irresistibly impelled to the conclusion that things' were simply bound to happen I However slight the cause —still that cause was predestined from the beginning of time. A girl may by the sheerest. accident step from the street car a block ahead of her destination—an irritating accident. But as she walks that block she may imeet an old-time friend, and a stranger. And that stranger—ah, you can never convince the girl that her stepping front the car'too soon was not ordered when the foundations of the world ♦were laid. . After all, it was very simple. Across the street from the parsonage lived a girl named Mattle Moore—a common, unlovely, unexciting girl, who taught » country school five miles out from ■

town, and rode to and from her school) morning and evening, on a bicycle. - ' One evening, early in June, when the world was fair to look upon, it was foreordained that Prudence should be turning in at the parsonage gate just os Mattie Moore whirled up. opposite, on her dusty wheel. Prudence stopped to interchange polite inanities with her neighbor, and Mattie, wheeling the bicycle lightly beside her, came across the street and stood beneath the parsonage maples with Prudence. They talked of the weather, of the coming summer, of Mattie's school, rejoicing that one more week would bring freedom frorii books" for Mattie and the younger parsonage girls. Then said Prudence: “Isn’t it great fun to ride a bicycle? I love it. Bornetime will you let me ride your wheel?” "Why, certainly. You may ride now if you like.” “No,” said Prudence slowly, “I used to ride, but am afraid it would not do now. Some of the members might see me, and—well, I am very grownup. you knew. 'Of course,” she added hastily, “it is different with you. You ride for business, but it would be nothing but a frolic with me. I want to go parly in the morning, when the world isfast asleep. Let me take it tomorrow’ morning, will you?” “Yes, of course you may;” was the hearty answer. “You may stay out as long as you like. I always sleep late on Saturdays." So Prudence delightedly tripped up the parsonage board walk, wheeling the bicycle by her side. She hid ip carefully in the woodshed, for the twins were rash and venturesome. But after she had gone to bed, she confided her plan to Fairy. “I’m going at six o’clock, and, Fairy, if I am a little late, you’ll get breakfast for papa and the girls, like a dear, won't you?” Fairy promised. And early the next morning Prudence, in red sweater jacket and cap, set out upon her secret ride. It was a magnificent morning, and Prudence sang for pure delight as she rode swiftly along the country roads, guided only by her own caprice. She knew it was growing late, “but Fairy’ll get breakfast,” she thought, comfortably. Finally she turned in a by-road leading between two rich, Dismounting at the top of a long hill, she gazed anxiously around her. No_ one was in sight. The nearest house tyas-two- nnles behlTOt and the road" was long and smooth and inviting, and the hill was -steep. Prudence yearned for a good, "souFstirrlng” coast, with her feet high on the framework of the wheel,- and the pedals flying around beneath her skirts. It seemed safe. - The only- living-thing in sight was a sober-eyed', serious mule peacefully grazing near the bottom of the hill. —Prudence laughed gleefully, like ff~ child. She never laughed again in exactly that way. “Here goes!” she cried, and, leaping nimbly into the saddle, she pedaled swiftly _a few times,- and then lifted her feet to the coveted position. Thq pedals flew around beneath her.XamJ/ the wind whistled about her in a most exhilaBut as she neared the bottom the placid mule suddenly stalked into the middle of the road. Prudence Screamed, jerked the handlebar to the right, to -Hie .then, with -a sickening thud, she struck the mule head first, and bounced on down to the ground, with a little cry of pain. The bicycle crashed beside her. and the mule, slightly startled, .looked around at her with ears raised in silent questioning. Then he ambled slowly across the road, and deliberately continued his grazing. Prudence tried to raise herself, but she felt sharp pain. She heard someone leaping-over the fence near her, and Wondered, without moving her head, if it could be a tramp bent on highway robbery. The next instant a man wasjeaning over her. “It’s not a tramp,” she thought, before he had time to speak. "Are you hurt?" he cried. “You poor child!” ■ . . Prudence smiled pluckily. “My ankle Is hurt a little, but I am not a child.” The ypung man, in great relief, laughed aloud, and Prudence joined him rather faintly. ‘Tift afraid I cannot walk,” she said. “I believe I’ve broken my ankle, maybe my whole leg, for all I know. It—hurts—pretty badly?” '

“Lie down like this," he said, nelplng her to ,n more comfortable position, "do not move. May ♦ examine your foot?” She shook her head, but he removed the shoe regardless of her headshake. J*l.believe it is sprained. I am sure the bone is not broken. But how in the world will you get home? How far is it to Mount Mark? Is that where yon live?” •'Yes” considering “yes, I live there, and it must be four miles, anyhow. What shall I do?” In answer, he pulled off his coat, and arranged it carefully by the side of the road on the grass. Then jerking open the bag he had carried, he took out a few towels, and three soft shirts. Hastily rolling them together for a pillow, he added it to the bed pro fem. Then he turned again to Prudence. “I’ll ~car?y~you~over~here, and fix' you as comfortably as I can. Then I’ll go to the nearest house and get a wagon to take you home.” Prudence was not shy, and realizing that his plan was the wise one, she made rmobjectfons when he came to help her across the road. ”1 think I ynn walk if you lift me up /»- - - - - But the first movement sent, such a twinge of pajn through, the wounded ankle that she clutched him frantically and burst into tears. “It hurts,” she cried, “don’t touch me.” Without speaking, he lifted her as gently as he could and carried her to the place he had prepared for her. “Will you be warm enough?” he asked, after he had -stood looking awkwardly down upon the sobbing girl as long as he could endure it. “Yes.” nodded Prudence, gulping down the big sob rising in her throat. “I’ll run. This confounded cross-cut Is so out of the way that no one will pass here for hours, I suppose. Now lie as comfortably aft you can, and do not worry. I’m going to run.” Off he started, but Prudence, left alone. was suddenly frightened*, “Please, oh, please,” she called after htnn and-when he came back she buried her face in shame, deep in the linen towel. “I’m afraid,” she whispered, crying again. “I do not wish to be left alone here. A snake might- come, or a tramp.” He sat down beside her. “You’re nervous. I’ll stay with you untif you feel better. Someone may come this way, but it isn’t likely. I cut through the hickory grove to save a mile, That’s

how I happened to find you." He smiled a little, and Prudence, remem- ' tiering the nature of her accident. | flushed. Then, being Prudence, she laughed. . A “It was my own fault. I had no business to go coasting down like that. But the mule was so stationary. It never occurred to me that he contemplated moving for the next century at least -He was a -bitter disappointmentA 1 ~-She*looked down the roadside where the mule was contentedly grazing, with never .so much as a sympathetic glance : at his victim.' “I’m afraid your bicycle is rather badly done up.”

(TO BE CONTINUeOH

A PAINFUL ACCIDENT BRINGS TRUE ROMANCE TO THE PARSONAGE GIRLS—MAYBE REAL

Mr. Starr; widower Methodist minister, is assigned to the congregation at Mount Mark, la. He has five charming daughters. Prudence, the eldest, keeps house for him. Fairy is a college freshman. Carol and Lark, twins, are in high school. Constance is the “baby.” The' activities of the Starr work, Falry*B school affairs, the pranks of the youngsters—and the family perplexities make the story; it is simply a recital of glorified homely, incidents. The preceding installment described the capture of a notorious burglar in the parsonage and the reward promised the girls.

Do you believe that Prudence couid be made to believe there was such a thing as love at first sight?

(Copyright, by the Bobbs-Merrill Company.)

“Sometime Will You Let Mr Ride Your Wheel?”