CHAPTER VIII

THE FIRST DARK SHADOW OF WINTER

Prudence and Fairy stood in the bay window of the sitting-room, and
looked out at the thickly falling snow. Already the ground was whitely
carpeted, and the low-branched peach trees just outside the parsonage
windows were beginning to bow down beneath their burdens.

"Isn't it beautiful, Prudence?" whispered Fairy. "Isn't it beautiful?
Oh, I love it when it snows."

"Yes, and you love it when the sun shines, too," said Prudence, "and
when it rains, and when the wind is blowing. You have the soul of a
poet, that's what is the matter with you. You are a nature-fiend, as
Carol would say."

Fairy turned abruptly from the window. "Don't talk for a minute,
Prue,--I want to write."

So Prudence stood quietly in the window, listening to the pencil
scratching behind her.

"Listen now, Prue,--how is this?" Fairy had a clear expressive voice,
"a bright voice," Prudence called it. And as she read her simple lines
aloud, the heart of Prudence swelled with pride. To Prudence, Fairy
was a wonderful girl.