"No," said Prudence decidedly, to Lark's intense relief. "I can't do
that. You've been looking forward to it so long, and your class is to
help with the serving. No, not that, Larkie. That would be too mean.
Think of something else."

"Well,--you might make me wash and dry the dishes all alone--for a week,
Prudence, and that will be a bad punishment, too, for I just despise
washing dishes by myself. Telling stories makes it so much--livelier."

"All right, then," said Prudence, relieved in turn, "that is what I will
do. And Carol and Connie must not even stay in the kitchen with you."

"I believe I'll go to bed now, too," said Lark, with a thoughtful glance
at her two sisters, already curled up snugly and waiting for the
conclusion of the administering of justice. "If you don't mind,
Prudence."

Prudence smiled a bit ruefully. "Oh, I suppose you might as well, if you
like. But remember this, Lark: No more deaths, and murders, and
mysteries, and highway robberies."

"All right, Prudence," said Lark with determination. And as Prudence
walked slowly down-stairs she heard Lark starting in on her next story:

"Once there was a handsome young man, named Archibald Tremaine,--a very
respectable young fellow. He wouldn't so much as dream of robbing, or
murdering, or dying."

Then Prudence smiled to herself in the dark and hurried down.