"Tell Prue all about it, Connie," she said. But Constance shook her
head.

"It can't be talked about. Go on and eat your pear. It is good."

"Was it all right?" questioned Prudence. "Did the twins play fair,
Connie?"

"Yes," said Constance. "It was all right. Don't talk about it."

But in two days Constance repented of her rashness. In three days she
was pleading for forgiveness. And in four days she was starting in on
another two weeks of pledgedom, and the desecrated ribbon with its drop
of blood reposed once more on her ambitious breast.

For three days her service was sore indeed, for the twins informed her,
with sympathy, that she must be punished for insubordination. "But
after that, we'll be just as easy on you as anything, Connie," they
told her. "So don't you get sore now. In three days, we'll let up on
you."

A week passed, ten days, and twelve. Then came a golden October
afternoon when the twins sat in the haymow looking out upon a mellow
world. Constance was in the yard, reading a fairy story. The
situation was a tense one, for the twins were hungry, and time was
heavy on their hands.

"The apple trees in Avery's orchard are just loaded," said Lark
aimlessly. "And there are lots on the ground, too. I saw them when I
was out in the field this morning."