a coat in time for Sunday, and Prudence had said that Connie must be
coated by Sunday! She walked sturdily down the street toward the
"city,"--ironically so called. Her face was stony, her hands were
clenched. But finally she brightened. Her lagging steps quickened.
She skipped along quite cheerfully. She turned westward as she reached
the corner of the Square, and walked along that business street with
shining eyes. In front of the First National Bank she paused, but
after a few seconds she passed by. On the opposite corner was another
bank. When she reached it, she walked in without pausing, and the
massive door swung behind her. Standing on tiptoe, she confronted the
cashier with a grave face.

"Is Mr. Harold in?" she asked politely.

Mr. Harold was the president of the bank! It was a little unusual.

"Yes, he is in," said the cashier doubtfully, "but he is very busy."

"Will you tell him that Constance Starr wishes to speak to him,
privately, and that it is very important?"

The cashier smiled. "The Methodist minister's little girl, isn't it?
Yes, I will tell him."

Mr. Harold looked up impatiently at the interruption.

"It's the Methodist minister's little daughter, and she says it is
important for her to speak to you privately."

"Oh! Probably a message from her father. Bring her in."