others and soon it was a rollicking group around the parsonage table.
Mr. Morgan himself smiled uncertainly. He was puzzled. More, he was
embarrassed. But as soon as Carol could get her breath, she gasped out
an explanation.

"You were just--right, Mr. Morgan,--to give thanks--for the table!
There's nothing--on it--to be thankful for!"

And the whole family went off once more into peals of laughter.

Mr. Morgan had very little appetite that day. He did not seem to be so
fond of sweet corn as he had assured Prudence. He talked very little,
too. And as soon as possible he took his hat and walked hurriedly away.
He did not call at the parsonage again.

"Oh, Carol," said Prudence reproachfully, wiping her eyes, "how could you
start us all off like that?"

"For the table, for the table!" shrieked Carol, and Prudence joined in
perforce.

"It was awful," she gasped, "but it was funny! I believe even father
would have laughed."

A few weeks after this, Carol distinguished herself again, and to her
lasting mortification. The parsonage pasture had been rented out during
the summer months before the change of ministers, the outgoing incumbent
having kept neither horse nor cow. As may be imagined, the little
pasture had been taxed to the utmost, and when the new minister arrived,
he found that his field afforded poor grazing for his pretty little