come on out! Look,--she made cinnamon rolls."

Connie, too, hastened out to the kitchen in her bare feet, and was
promptly driven back by the watchful Prudence.

"I just know you are going to be sick, Connie,--I feel it in my bones.
And walking out in that cold kitchen in your bare feet! You can just
drink some more peppermint tea for that, now."

"Well, give me a cinnamon roll to go with it," urged Connie.
"Peppermint is awfully dry, taken by itself."

Lark hooted gaily at this sentiment, but joined her sister in pleading
for cinnamon rolls.

"No, wait until supper is ready. You do not need to help peel the
potatoes to-night, Carol. Run back where it is warm, and you must not
read if your head aches. You read too much anyhow. I'll help Lark
with the potatoes. No, do not take the paper, Carol,--I said you must
not read."

Then Lark and Prudence, working together, and talking much, prepared
the supper for the family. When they gathered about the table,
Prudence looked critically at Connie.

"Are you beginning to feel sick? Do you feel like sneezing, or any
thing?--Connie's awfully naughty, papa. Her feet were just oozing
water, and she sat there in her wet shoes and stockings, just like a
stupid child.--Aren't you going to eat any supper, Carol? Are you
sick? What is the matter? Does your head still ache?"