"Not the measles," begged Carol, wounded afresh. "Give me diphtheria, or smallpox, or—or even leprosy, and I'll bear it bravely and with a smile, but it shall not be said that Carol's measles spoiled the wedding."
"Oh, Carol," wailed Prudence, "don't have the measles,—please don't. I've waited all my life for this wedding,—don't spoil it."
"Well, it's your own fault, Prue," interrupted Lark. "If you hadn't kept us all cooped up when we were little we'd have had measles long ago. Now, like as not the whole family'll have 'em, and serve you right. No self-respecting family has any business to grow up without having the measles."
"What shall we do now?" queried Constance practically.
"Well, I always said it was a mistake," said Fairy. "A big wedding—"
"Oh, Fairy, please don't tell me that again. I know it so well. Papa, whatever shall we do? Maybe Jerry hasn't had them either."
"Why, it's easily arranged," said Lark. "We'll just postpone the wedding until Carol's quite well again."
"Bad luck," said Connie.
"Too much work," said Fairy.
"Well, she can't get married without Carol, can she?" ejaculated Lark.