dear, and run out-of-doors a while. You'll feel better about it
presently, I'm sure."

Connie stood solemnly beside the table, her eyes still fastened on the
coat, cut down from her father's. "Can I go and take a walk?" she
asked finally.

"May I, you mean," suggested Fairy.

"Yes, may I? Maybe I can reconcile myself to it."

"Yes, do go and take a walk," urged Prudence promptly, eager to get the
small sober face beyond her range of vision.

"If I am not back when the twins get home, go right on and eat without
me. I'll come back when I get things straightened out in my mind."

When Connie was quite beyond hearing, Prudence dropped her head on the
table and wept. "Oh, Fairy, if the members just knew how such things
hurt, maybe they'd pay up a little better. How do they expect
parsonage people to keep up appearances when they haven't any money?"

"Oh, now, Prue, you're worse than Connie! There's no use to cry about
it. Parsonage people have to find happiness in spite of financial
misery. Money isn't the first thing with folks like us."

"No, but they have pledged it," protested Prudence, lifting her
tear-stained face. "They must know we are counting on the money. Why
don't they keep their pledges? They pay their meat bills, and grocery
bills, and house rent! Why don't they pay for their religion?"