I--I was vexed about it, Prudence, honestly. I--I was chasing her, and
I fell, and tore my stocking,--and--and--but, Prudence, the papers do
say children ought to model, and we didn't think of--getting caught."
Another appealing glance into her sister's face, and Lark plunged on,
bent on smoothing matters if she could. "Carol is--is just fine at it,
really. She--she's making a Venus de Milo, and it's good. But we
can't remember whether her arm is off at the elbow or below the
shoulder----" An enormous gulp, and by furious blinking Lark managed
to crowd back the tears that would slip to the edge of her lashes.
"I--I'm very sorry, Prudence."

"Very well, Lark, you may go. I do not really object to your modeling
in mud, I am sure. I am sorry you look so disreputable. You must
change your shoes and stockings at once, and then you can go on with
your modeling. But there must be no more pushing and chasing. I'll
see Connie about that to-night. Now----"

"Oh! Oh! Oh! What in the world is that?"

This was a chorus of several Ladies' Aid voices,--a double quartette at
the very least. Lark gave a sharp exclamation and began looking
hurriedly about her on the floor.

"It's got in here,--just as I expected," she exclaimed. "I said you
would be sorry, Prue,--Oh, there it is under your chair, Mrs. Prentiss.
Just wait,--maybe I can shove it back in the box again."

This was greeted with a fresh chorus of shrieks. There was a hurried
and absolute vacation of that corner of the front room. The Ladies
fled, dropping their cherished sewing, shoving one another in a most