Atlantic Narratives

abomination unto the Lord a hundred and twenty-five, a lie's an abominatio

m her sewing and fixing her eyes severel

shment, but it was one that Prudence Jane strongly objected to-and that, after all, is the essence of a punishment. Prudence Jane had seven teasing, mimicking brothers, and whenever one of them caught her saying a punish-sentence it was days before she heard the last of it. Already in the garden below there was audible a shrill voice

ation" in the Bible?'

d Aunt Ann

emanded Pr

y. 'Why-why-in the middle of the Bible. Don'

inister's Bible?' pu

ence Jane, if you don't go on at once I

Lord a hundred and twenty-seven

for being late to school it was, naturally, 'Procrastination is the thief of time.' While for telling Lena, the cook, that Uncle Arth

e will not dwell upon them here. They make a story in themselves. S

en Rose. It was, to be sure, a stupid little fib, and was therefore quite unworthy of Prudence Jane. For Prudence Jane almost never told stupid little fibs. The fibs of Prudence Jane were little masterpieces, with a finish and distinction all their own. Her brother Will, who adored he

her. With her big confiding eyes, as round and blue as two forget-me-nots, and her pale yellow hair held demurely bac

same frail, flower-like look that he had toward the last. I almost tremb

Annie n

transparent, and that was her youngest brother, Peter. Peter was a square, solid little pe

ll me that Prudence Jane is untruthful. No child could look straight at you out of her little soul as she always does,

tle fibber that she seemed. She told fibs, not because she wished to deceive, but because the dull facts of life were so much less interesting than the lively little romances which she could make up out of her own head. When

n she was being cross-examined by Aunt Annie. For five minutes she had kept the family spellbound by a circumstantial account of how that afternoon she had see

ormation, 'you know well enough that no truck went over the emba

the supper table at her aunt

that was just a st

s that aren't true are very wicke

uired Prudence Jane, the picture of inno

stories written in books are different. The

books?' went on Prude

; 'we know their stories aren't

't true, too,' objected Prudence Jan

are a very naughty little girl. I sometimes think that you don

iently, as Aunt Annie put it, for Providence to see fit to send them a dear little girl to inherit her grandmothers' names-and they received Prudence Jane. Had she appeared at an earlier date, or had there been another girl in the family, she might have escaped either the Prudence or the Jane. But for fifteen yea

nnounced that it was 'a girl at last, by Jove,' there had been no choice left for Prudence Jane. The

it,' said a flippant uncle-and that had settled it. Prudence Jane was duly enter

ded that it was a combination no longer to be borne. She hated her name with all her little soul; therefore she would discard it and take another. This sounded simple, but there were,

nce Jane, I'm ashamed of you. Gwendolin is a very silly name indeed, and you have two such noble ones. I only hope that you will gro