At
that moment, Prudence heard some one running through the hall, and
thrust the note hastily into her dress. It was Lark, and she flung
herself wildly upon Prudence, sobbing bitterly.
"What is the matter, Lark?" she tried, really frightened. "Are you
sick?"
"Heartsick, that's all," wailed Lark. "I told the teacher I was sick
so I could come home, but I'm not. Oh, Prudence, I know you'll despise
and abominate me all the rest of your life, and everybody will, and I
deserve it. For I stole those apples myself. That is, I made Connie
go and get them for me. She didn't want to. She begged not to. But I
made her. She didn't eat one of them,--I did it. And she felt very
badly about it. Oh, Prudence, you can do anything in the world to
me,--I don't care how horrible it is; I only hope you will. But,
Prudence, you won't let Carol know, will you? Oh, spare me that,
Prudence, please. That's my last request, that you keep it from Carol."
Prudence was surprised and puzzled. She drew the note from her pocket,
and gave it to Lark. "Carol gave me that before she went to school,"
she explained. "Read it, and tell me what you are driving at. I think
you are both crazy. Or maybe you are just trying to shield poor
Connie."
Lark read Carol's note, and gasped, and--burst out laughing! The
shame, and bitter weeping, and nervousness, had rendered her
hysterical, and now she laughed and cried until Prudence was alarmed
again.
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