morning and did not prepare much luncheon. We are very fond of sweet
corn, and I cooked an enormous panful. But that's all we have for
luncheon,--sweet corn and butter. We haven't even bread, because I am
going to bake this afternoon, and we never eat it with sweet corn,
anyhow. Now, if you care to eat sweet corn and butter, and canned
peaches, we'd just love to have you stay for luncheon with us."

The Reverend Mr. Morgan was charmed, and said so. So Prudence rushed to
the kitchen, opened the peaches in a hurry, and fished out a clean napkin
for their guest. Then they gathered about the table, five girls and the
visiting minister. It was really a curious sight, that table. In the
center stood a tall vase of goldenrod. On either side of the vase was a
great platter piled high with sweet corn, on the cob! Around the table
were six plates, with the necessary silverware, and a glass of water for
each. There was also a small dish of peaches at each place, and an
individual plate of butter. That was all,--except the napkins. But
Prudence made no apologies. She was a daughter of the parsonage! She
showed the Reverend Mr. Morgan to his place as graciously and sweetly as
though she were ushering him in to a twenty-seven course banquet.

"Will you return thanks, Mr. Morgan?" she said. And the girls bowed
their heads. The Reverend Mr. Morgan cleared his throat, and began, "Our
Father, we thank Thee for this table."

There was more of the blessing, but the parsonage girls heard not one
additional phrase,--except Connie, who followed him conscientiously
through every word. By the time he had finished, Prudence and Fairy, and
even Lark, had composed their faces. But Carol burst into merry
laughter, close upon his reverent "Amen,"--and after one awful glare at
her sister, Prudence joined in. This gaiety communicated itself to the