sensible, and clever. In fact, she is an all-round solid and
worthwhile girl. She can do anything, and do it right, and is going to
be a college professor. It is a sad thing to think of a college
professor being called Fairy all her life, isn't it? Especially when
she is so dignified and grand. But one simply can't tell beforehand
what to expect, can one?

"Father and mother were quite discouraged by that time. They hardly
knew what to do. But anyhow they were sure the next would be a boy.
Every one predicted a boy, and so they chose a good old Methodist
name,--Charles. They hated to give it John Wesley, for they had sort
of dedicated that to me, you know,--only I happened to be Prudence.
But Charles was second-best. And they were very happy about it,
and--it was twin girls! It was quite a blow, I guess. But they
rallied swiftly, and called them Carol and Lark. Such nice musical
names! Father and mother were both good singers, and mother a splendid
pianist. And Fairy and I showed musical symptoms early in life, so
they thought they couldn't be far wrong that time. It was a bitter
mistake. It seemed to turn the twins against music right from the
start. Carol can carry a tune if there's a strong voice beside her,
but Lark can hardly tell the difference between _Star Spangled Banner_
and _Rock of Ages_.

"The neighbors were kind of amused by then, and mother was very
sensitive about it. So the next time she determined to get ahead of
Fate. 'No more nonsense, now,' said mother. 'It's almost certain to
be a boy, and we'll call him William after father,--and Billy for
short.' We all liked the name Billy, mother especially. But she
couldn't call father anything but William,--we being parsonage people,
you know. But she kept looking forward to little Billy,--and then they