couldn't think of another word, so she gulped, and stammered out a faint
"Amen."

But Prudence could not begin. Prudence was red in the face, and nearly
suffocated. She felt all swollen inside,--she couldn't speak. The
silence continued. "Oh, why doesn't father do it?" she wondered. As a
matter of fact, father couldn't. But Prudence did not know that. One
who laughs often gets in the habit of laughter,--and sometimes laughs out
of season, as well as in. Finally, Prudence plunged in desperately,
"Dear Father"--as she usually began her sweet, intimate little talks with
God,--and then she paused. Before her eyes flashed a picture of the
"beautiful morning," for which Carol had just been thankful! She tried
again. "Dear Father,"--and then she whirled around on the floor, and
laughed. Mr. Starr got up from his knees, sat down on his chair, and
literally shook. Fairy rolled on the lounge, screaming with merriment.
Even sober little Connie giggled and squealed. But Carol could not get
up. She was disgraced. She had done a horrible, disgusting, idiotic
thing. She had insulted God! She could never face the family again.
Her shoulders rose and fell convulsively.

Lark did not laugh either. With a rush she was on her knees beside
Carol, her arms around the heaving shoulders. "Don't you care, Carrie,"
she whispered. "Don't you care. It was just a mistake,--don't cry,
Carrie."

But Carol would not be comforted. She tried to sneak unobserved from the
room, but her father stopped her.

"Don't feel so badly about it, Carol," he said kindly, really sorry for
the stricken child,--though his eyes still twinkled, "it was just a