He laughed heartily at the matter-of-factness with which this nineteen-year-old girl disposed of love and marriage. "Why aren't you going to be married?" he inquired, foolishly happy, and showing more foolishness than happiness, just as we all do on such occasions.
"Well, it will be ten or eleven years before Connie is fairly raised."
"Yes, but you won't be a Methuselah, in eleven years," he smiled.
"No, but you forget father."
"Forget father! Are you raising him, too?"
"No, I'm not raising him, but I'm managing him." But when he laughed, she hastened to add, "That is, I take care of him, and keep house for him, and remind him of things he forgets." Then with girlish honesty, she added, "Though I must confess that he has to remind me of things I forget, oftener than I do him. I inherited my forgetfulness from father. I asked him once if he inherited his from grandfather, and he said he forgot whether grandfather was forgetful or not! Father is very clever. So's Fairy. And the twins are the smartest little things you ever saw,—and Connie, too. Connie is the oddest, keenest child. She's wonderful. They all are,—but me. It's kind of humiliating to be the only stupid one in a family of smart folks. I suppose you've no idea how it feels, and I can't explain it. But sometimes I think maybe I ought to go off and die, so the whole family can shine and sparkle together. As it is, there's just a dull glow from my corner, quite pale and ugly compared with the brilliant gleams the others are sending out."
Said Professor Rayburn, "Ah, Prudence, the faint, sweet mellow glows are always beautiful. Not sparkling, perhaps, not brilliant! But comforting, and cheering, and—always to be trusted. It's just these little corner-glows, like yours, that make life worth living."
This was rather deep for Prudence, but she felt instinctively that he was complimenting her. She thanked him sweetly, and said, "And after all, I do not really mind being the stupid one. I think it's rather fun, for then I can just live along comfortably, and people do not expect much of me. It would wear me all out to be as clever as Fairy, or as witty as Carol, or as studious as Lark. But I am most tremendously proud of them, I assure you."
If Professor Rayburn had continued along this interesting and fruitful line of conversation, all would have been well.
"But it came just like a clap of thunder in the sunshine," said Prudence to Fairy dramatically, as they sat in their room talking things over that night. "We were having a perfectly grand time, and I was just thinking he was as nice and interesting as if he didn't know one thing to his name, when—Crash! That's how it happened."