"Yes. We've already learned quite a lot about it," amended Lark, with something of warning in her tone.
"What do you think about it, Aunt Grace?"
"Why,—I don't know, Prudence. You know more about rearing twins than I do."
Prudence at that moment felt that she knew very little about it, indeed. She turned to Fairy. There was a strange intentness in Fairy's fine eyes as she studied the twins on the floor at her feet.
"You aren't thinking of turning Christian Scientists, yourselves, are you?" asked Prudence rather humbly.
"Oh, of course, we aren't Scientists, Prudence," was the quick denial. "We don't know anything about it yet, really. But there are lots of very helpful things in it, and—people talk about it so much, and—they have made such wonderful cures, you know, and—we'd thought we'd just study up a little."
"You take the book and read it yourself, Prue," urged Carol hospitably. "You'll see what we mean."
Prudence drew back quickly as though the book would sear her fingers. She looked very forlorn. She realized that it would be bad policy to forbid the twins to read it. On the other hand, she realized equally strongly that it was certainly unwise to allow its doctrines to take root in the minds of parsonage daughters. If only her father were at home,—ten days between herself and the lifting of responsibility!
"When father comes home—" she began. And then suddenly Fairy spoke.
"I think the twins are right," she said emphatically, and the twins looked at her with a surprised anxiety that mated Prudence's own. "It would be very narrow-minded of us to refuse to look into a subject as important as this. Let them go on and study it; we can decide things later."