Mr. Harold was one of the trustees of the Methodist church, and
prominent among them. His keen eyes were intent upon Connie as she
walked in, but she did not falter.

"How do you do, Mr. Harold?" she said, and shook hands with him in the
good old Methodist way.

His eyes twinkled, but he spoke briskly. "Did your father send you on
an errand?"

"No, father is out of town. I came on business,--personal business,
Mr. Harold. It is my own affair."

"Oh, I see," and he smiled at the earnest little face. "Well, what can
I do for you, Miss Constance?"

"I want to borrow five dollars from the bank, Mr. Harold?"

"You--did Prudence send you?"

"Oh, no, it is my own affair as I told you. I came on my own account.
I thought of stopping at the other bank as I passed, but then I
remembered that parsonage people must always do business with their own
members if possible. And of course, I would rather come to you than to
a perfect stranger."

"Thank you,--thank you very much. Five dollars you say you want?"

"I suppose I had better tell you all about it. You see, I need a