"It just takes my breath away!" said Marjorie, as she sank down on the settee in the living-room; "I never saw anything like it! Can't we have just the best fun here all summer!"

"I should say we could!" declared Molly. "It seems almost as if it must be our birthdays too. We'll have just as much fun here as you will, Midge."

"Why, I couldn't have any fun at all without you two; at least, it would be very lonesome fun."

"I don't see how they ever built it," said Molly, who, by way of finding out, was hanging out of a window as far as she could and investigating the building.

"I know," said the wise Stella; "I read about one once; they nail the beams and things to the trunks of the trees and then they nail boards across, and then they build the house. But the one I read about wasn't as nice as this."

"I don't think there could be one as nice as this," declared Marjorie; "and we can fix it up a lot yet, you know. I shall bring some things down from my room, some of my favorite books for the book-shelves, and things like that."

"Do you suppose it will rain in, ever?" asked the practical Stella.

"No, of course not," said Molly, who was still examining the carpenter work. "See, these windows slide shut sideways, and then if you shut the door tight the rain couldn't get in, unless the roof leaks."

"Of course it doesn't!" declared Midget; "Uncle Steve wouldn't build me a house with a leaky roof. Did you ever see such cunning window curtains! Of course we don't need blinds, for the tree keeps the sun out. It does seem so queer to look out of the window and see only a tree."

"Look out of the front door," said Molly, "and you won't see a tree then. You'll just see grass and sky and cows. But what's this thing at the back, Mopsy? It looks like a pair of well-buckets."

"I don't know. What can it be?" said Mopsy, running to look.

There was a queer contraption that seemed to be something like a windlass and something like a dumbwaiter. It was at the very end of the veranda around the corner of the house.

"I know," said Stella quietly; "it's a kind of an elevator thing to pull up things when you want to."

"Why, so it is!" cried Marjorie. "This is the way it works." And releasing a big wooden button, she let the whole affair slide to the ground, and, then, grasping the handle of a crank, she began to draw it up again.

"Well, if that isn't great!" cried Molly. "We can boost up all sorts of things!"

"Here's something to boost up now," said Marjorie, who had spied Jane coming across the fields, with what was undoubtedly a tray of refreshment.

And sure enough, Grandma had sent some ginger-snaps and lemonade to furnish the first feast at "Breezy Inn."

"Your grandma wouldn't send much," explained Jane, "for she says you must all come back to the house at one o'clock for the birthday dinner, and it's well after eleven now. She sent your clock, Miss Midget, so you'll know when to come."

Apparently Jane knew more about the ways and means of "Breezy Inn" than the children did; for she directed them explicitly how to let down the dumbwaiter, and, then, after having carefully placed on it the tray of good things and the clock, she advised them about drawing it up. It worked almost like a well-bucket and was quite easy to manage. The tray reached the top in safety, and, in great glee, the girls arranged the little feast on the table in the living-room, and sat down to play tea-party.

"Isn't this lovely!" exclaimed Molly, as she took her seventh ginger-snap from the plate. "I don't see how your grandma knew that we were beginning to get hungry."

"Grandma always seems to know everything that's nice," said Marjorie. "Some day, girls, let's come out here and spend the whole day. We'll bring a lot of lunch, you know, and it will be just as if we lived here."

"Goody!" said Molly. "That will be heaps of fun. We'll all bring things; I know Mother will give me a pie."

"I'll like it," said Stella, with an expression of great satisfaction; "because up here you girls can't romp around so and run as you do down on the ground. When we come for a whole day let's bring a book of fairy stories and take turns reading aloud."

"All right," said Midge; "let's have it for a sort of a club, and meet here one day every week."

"Clubs ought to do something," observed Molly. "Charity, you know, or something like that."

"All right," said Midge; "let's make things and then sell them and get some money for the Dunns."

"What could we do?" asked Molly. "We couldn't have another bazaar, and, besides, I think the Dunns have enough money for the present."

"Don't let's work," said Stella, who was not very enterprising; "at least, not when we're up here. Let's just read or play paper dolls. If you want to work and make things, do them at home."

"I feel that way, too," said Midget; "let's just keep this for a playhouse. But maybe it isn't right; maybe we ought to do things for charity."

"Ask your grandma," said Molly; "she'll know what's right. But I expect they gave you this house to have fun in."

"I think they did, too," said Marjorie; "and, anyway, Molly, we could do both. We had lots of fun getting ready for the bazaar, and we did the charity besides."

"Well, let's read part of the time, anyway," said Stella; "I do love to read or to be read to."

"We will," agreed Marjorie, amiably, and Molly agreed, too.



CHAPTER XV

THE BROKEN LADDER

As the days went on, "Breezy Inn" became more and more a delight to the children. They never grew tired of it, but, on the contrary, new attractions connected with it were forever developing. Many additions had been made to the furnishings, each of the three girls having brought over treasures from her own store.

They had reading days, and paper-doll days, and game-playing days, and feast days, and days when they did nothing but sit on the little veranda and make plans. Often their plans were not carried out, and often they were, but nobody cared much which way it happened. Sometimes Stella sat alone on the little porch, reading. This would usually be when Molly and Midge were climbing high up into the branches of the old maple-trees. It was very delightful to be able to step off of one's own veranda onto the branch of a tree and then climb on up and up toward the blue sky. And especially, there being two girls to climb, it was very useful to have two trees.

But not every day did the girls spend in "Breezy Inn." Sometimes they roamed in the woods, or went rowing on the river, and sometimes they visited at each other's houses.

One pleasant afternoon in late July, Marjorie asked Grandma if she mightn't go to spend the afternoon at Stella's.

Mrs. Sherwood liked to have her go to Stella's, as the influence of the quiet little girl helped to subdue Marjorie's more excitable disposition, and about three o'clock Marjorie started off.

Grandma Sherwood looked after the child, as she walked away, with admiring eyes. Marjorie wore a dainty frock of white dimity, scattered with tiny pink flowers. A pink sash and hair-ribbons were fresh and crisply tied, and she carried the pretty parasol Stella had given her on her birthday.

With Marjorie, to be freshly dressed always made her walk decorously, and Grandma smiled as she saw the little girl pick her way daintily down the walk to the front gate, and along the road to Stella's, which, though only next door, was several hundred yards away.

As Marjorie passed out of sight, Grandma sighed a little to think how quickly the summer was flying by, for she dearly loved to have her grandchildren with her, and though, perhaps, not to be called favorite, yet Marjorie was the oldest and possessed a very big share of her grandmother's affection.

Soon after she reached Stella's, Molly came flying over. Molly, too, had on a clean afternoon dress, but that never endowed her with a sense of decorum, as it did Marjorie.

"Hello, girls," she cried, as she climbed over the veranda-railing and plumped herself down in the hammock. "What are we going to do this afternoon?"

"Let's read," said Stella, promptly.

"Read, read, read!" said Molly. "I'm tired of your everlasting reading. Let's play tennis."

"It's too hot for tennis," said Stella, "and, besides, you girls haven't tennis shoes on and you'd spoil your shoes and the court, too."

"Oh, what do you think," said Mopsy, suddenly; "I have the loveliest idea! Only we can't do it this afternoon, because we're all too much dressed up. But I'll tell you about it, and we can begin to-morrow morning."

"What's your idea?" said Molly, rousing herself in the hammock and sitting with her chin in both hands as she listened.

"Why, I read it in the paper," said Marjorie, "and it's this. And it's a lovely way to make money; we could make quite a lot for the Dunns. It will be some trouble, but it would be a lot of fun, too."

"Yes, but what is it," said Stella, in her quietly patient way.

"You go out into the field," began Marjorie, "and you gather heaps and heaps of pennyroyal,—you take baskets, you know, and gather just pecks of it. Then you take it home and you put it in pails or tubs or anything with a lot of water. And then you leave it about two days, and then you drain it off, and then it's pennyroyal extract."

Marjorie announced the last words with a triumphant air, but her hearers did not seem very much impressed.

"What then?" asked Molly, evidently awaiting something more startling.

"Why, then, you put it in bottles, and paste labels on, and take it all around and sell it to people. They love to have it, you know, for mosquitoes or burns or something, and they pay you quite a lot, and then you have the money for charity."

The artistic possibilities began to dawn upon Stella.

"Yes," she said, "and I could make lovely labels, with fancy letters; and you and Molly could paste them on, and we could tie the corks in with little blue ribbons, like perfumery bottles."

"And we'll each bring bottles," cried Molly, becoming interested; "we have lots at our house. Let's start out now to gather the pennyroyal. We're not so awfully dressed up. This frock will wash, anyway."

"So will mine," said Marjorie, but she spoke with hesitation. She knew that Grandma would not like to have her wear that dainty fresh frock out into the fields.

But, for some reason, Stella, too, was inclined to go, and with the trio, two against one always carried the day; and linking arms, in half a minute the three were skipping away toward the field. They had not asked permission, because the fields were part of Mr. Martin's property, and Stella was practically on her own home ground, though at a good distance from the house.

Enthusiastic over their new plan, the girls worked with a will, and, having carelessly gone off without any basket, they found themselves obliged to hold up the skirts of their dresses to carry their harvest.

"I should think we had enough to sell to everybody in Morristown," declared Molly, as, tired and flushed, she surveyed the great heap she had piled into her dress skirt.

"So should I," agreed Midget, gathering up more and more of her pretty dimity, now, alas! rumpled and stained almost beyond recognition.

Stella had a good share, though not so much as the others, and she stood calmly inquiring what they were going to do with it.

"There's no use taking it to my house," she declared, "for mother would only tell me to throw it away,—I know she would."

"Wouldn't she let us make the extract?" asked Marjorie.

"She wouldn't care how much we made it, but she wouldn't let me make it at home, I know, because she hates a mess."

"I don't believe Grandma would like it either," said Marjorie, with a sudden conviction; "it is awful messy, and it smells pretty strong. But I'll tell you what, girls: let's take it all right to 'Breezy Inn.' Then we can put it to soak right away. We can get water from the brook, and there are plenty of pails and things there to make the extract in."

"We can call it The Breezy Extract," said Stella; "that'll look pretty painted on the labels."

"Breezy Extract is silly," said Molly; "Breezy-Inn Extract is prettier."

"All right," said Stella, good-naturedly. "Come on, I'm in a hurry to begin. I'll paint the labels, while you girls make the stuff."

So they trudged across the field to Breezy Inn, dumped their heaps of pennyroyal into the dumb-waiter, and themselves scrambled gayly up the rope ladder.

Almost before Molly and Midge had pulled up their somewhat odorous burden, Stella had seated herself at the table to work at the labels. The child was devoted to work of this sort, and was soon absorbed in designing artistic letters to adorn the bottles.

Midge and Molly worked away with a will. Unheeding their pretty summer frocks, and, indeed, there was little use now for care in that direction, they brought water from the brook, hauled it up the dumbwaiter, and filled several good-sized receptacles with steeping pennyroyal flowers.

Their work finished, they were anxious to start for home at once and begin a search for the bottles, but Stella begged them to stay a little longer until she should have finished the design she was making.

So Midge and Molly wandered out on the veranda, and amused themselves by jerking the rope ladder up and down. By a clever mechanical contrivance the ladder went up and down something on the principle of an automatic shade roller. It was great fun to roll it up and feel a certain security in the thought that nobody could get into "Breezy Inn" unless they saw fit to let down the ladder. Not that anybody ever wanted to, but it was fun to think so, and, moreover, the rolling ladder was most useful in the playing of certain games, where an unlucky princess was imprisoned in a castle tower.

But somehow, as they were idly jerking the ladder up and down, an accident happened. Something snapped at the top, and with a little cracking sound, the whole ladder broke loose from its fastenings and fell to the ground.

"Oh, Midget!" cried Molly, aghast, "whatever shall we do now? We can't get down, and we'll have to stay here until somebody happens to come by this way."

"That may not be for several days," said Midget, cheerfully. "Carter never hardly comes down into this meadow. Pooh, Molly, we can get down some way."

"Yes; but how?" insisted Molly, who realized the situation more truly than Marjorie.

"Oh, I don't know," responded Midge, carelessly. "We might go down in the dumb-waiter."

"No; your uncle said, positively, we must never go down on that. It isn't strong enough to hold even one of us at a time."

"I guess I could jump."

"I guess you couldn't! You'd sprain your ankles and break your collar bones."

"Oh, pshaw, Molly, there must be some way down. Let's ask Stella. She can always think of something."

"No; don't tell Stella. She can't think of any way, and it would scare her to pieces. I tell you, Mops, there ISN'T any way down. It's too high to jump and we can't climb. We could climb UP the tree, but not DOWN."

At last Marjorie began to realize that they were in a difficulty. She looked all around the house, and there really was no way by which the girls could get down. They went into the living-room, where Stella sat at the table, drawing.

"I'm ready to go home," she said, looking up as they entered. "This is finished, and, anyway, it's getting so dark I can't see any more."

"Dark!" exclaimed Marjorie. "Why, it isn't five o'clock yet."

"I don't care what time it is," said Stella; "it's getting awfully dark, just the same."

And sure enough it was, and a few glances at the sky showed the reason. What was undoubtedly a severe thunderstorm was rapidly approaching, and dark masses of cloud began to roll over each other and pile up higher and higher toward the zenith.

"It's a thunder shower, that's what it is," declared Stella; "let's scramble down the ladder quick, and run for home. Let's all run to your house, Marjorie, it's nearer."

Midge and Molly looked at each other.

There was no help for it, so Marjorie said: "We can't go down the ladder, Stella, because it's broken down."

"What! Who broke it?"

"We did," said Molly; "that is, we were playing with it and somehow it broke itself. Of course, we didn't do it on purpose."

Stella's face turned white. "How shall we get down?" she said.

"We CAN'T get down," said Midge, cheerfully; "we'll have to stay up. But the roof doesn't leak; I asked Uncle, and he said it was perfectly watertight."

"But I don't want to stay up here in a storm," said Stella, and her lips began to quiver.

"Now, don't you cry, Stella!" said Molly, who, if truth be told, was on the verge of tears herself.

Meantime, the darkness was rapidly increasing. It was one of those sudden showers where a black pall of cloud seems to envelop the whole universe, and the very air takes on a chill that strikes a terror of its own, even to a stout heart.

The three little girls sat looking at each other in despair.

Each was very much frightened, but each was trying to be brave. It had all happened so suddenly that they had even yet scarcely realized that they were in real danger, when suddenly a terrible clap of thunder burst directly above their heads, accompanied by a blinding flash of lightning.

Stella screamed and then burst into wild crying; Molly turned white and gritted her teeth in a determination not to cry; while Marjorie, with big tears rolling down her cheeks, put her arms around Stella in a vain endeavor to comfort her.

Molly crept up to the other two, and intertwining their arms, the three huddled together, shivering with fear and dismay.

One after another, the terrible thunderbolts crashed and rolled, and the fearful lightning glared at intervals.

Then, with a swish and a splash, the rain began. It came down in gusty torrents, and dashed in at the open windows like a spray.

Molly and Marjorie jumped up and flew to shut the windows, but Stella remained crouched in a pathetic little heap.

"Somebody will come to get us," whispered Molly, trying to be hopeful and to cheer the others.

"No, they won't," said Marjorie, despairingly; "for Grandma thinks I'm over at Stella's, and your mother thinks you're there, too."

"Yes, but Stella's mother will hunt us up; somebody is SURE to come," persisted Molly.

"No, she won't," said a weak little voice; "for I told Mother that we might stay home this afternoon, and we might go over to Molly's. And she'll think we're over there."

"It wouldn't matter if the ladder WAS up," said Molly, "for we couldn't go out in this pouring rain, and we might get struck by lightning, too."

"Under a tree is the very worst place to be in a thunderstorm," said Stella, lifting her white, little face, and staring at the girls with big, scared eyes.

Just then another terrible crash and flash made them all grasp each other again, and then, without further restraint, they all cried together.

The storm increased. The winds simply raged, and though the old maple-trees were too sturdy to shake much, yet the little house swayed some, and all about could be heard the cracking and snapping of branches.

"I think—" began Molly, but even as she spoke there came the loudest crash of all. It was the splitting of the heavens, and with it came a fierce, sudden flash of flame that blinded them all.

The girls fell apart from one another through the mere shock, and when Molly and Midge dazedly opened their eyes, they saw Stella crumpled in a little heap on the floor.



CHAPTER XVI

FIRECRACKERS

"Is she dead?" screamed Molly. "Oh, Marjorie, is she dead?"

"I don't know," said Marjorie, whose face was almost as white as Stella's, as she leaned over the unconscious little girl.

Although they tried, they couldn't quite manage to lift Stella up on the couch, so Marjorie sat down on the floor and took the poor child's head on her knee, while Molly ran for water.

"I'm sure it's right to douse people with water when they faint," said Molly, as she sprinkled Stella's face liberally; "and she is only in a faint, isn't she, Marjorie? Because if people are really struck by lightning they burn up, don't they, Marjorie?"

While she talked, Molly was excitedly pouring water promiscuously over Stella, until the child looked as if she had been out in the storm.

Marjorie was patting Stella's cheek and rubbing her hands, but it all seemed of no avail; and, though Stella was breathing softly, they could not restore her to consciousness.

"It's dreadful," said Marjorie, turning to Molly with a look of utter despair, "and we MUST do something! It isn't RIGHT for us two little girls to try to take care of Stella. We MUST get Grandma here, somehow."

"But how CAN we?" said Molly. "The ladder is down, you know, and we can't possibly get down from the house. I'd try to jump, but it's fifteen feet, and I'd be sure to break some bones, and we'd be worse off than ever."

The two girls were too frightened to cry; they were simply appalled by the awful situation and at their wits' end to know what to do.

"It was bad enough," wailed Marjorie, "when we were all wide awake and could be frightened together; but with Stella asleep, or whatever she is, it's perfectly horrible."

"She isn't asleep," said Molly, scrutinizing the pale little face, "but she's stunned with the shock, and I'm sure I don't know what to do. We ought to have smelling-salts, or something, to bring her to."

"We ought to have somebody that knows something to look after her. Molly, we MUST get Grandma here. I believe I'll try to jump myself, but I suppose I'd just sprain my ankle and lie there in the storm till I was all washed away. What CAN we do?"

"We could holler, but nobody could hear us, it's raining so hard. The thunder and lightning aren't so bad now, but the rain and wind are fearful."

Molly was flying about the room, peeping out at one window after another, and then flying back to look at Stella, who still lay unconscious.

"If we only had a megaphone," said Marjorie, "though I don't believe we could scream loud enough through that even, to make Carter hear. What do people do when they're shipwrecked?"

"They send up rockets," said Molly, wisely.

"We haven't any rockets; but, oh, Molly! we have some firecrackers. They've been here ever since Fourth of July; those big cannon crackers, you know! Do you suppose we could fire off some of those, and Carter would hear them?"

"The very thing! But how can we fire them in this awful rain? It would put them right out."

"We MUST do it! It's our only chance!"

Carefully putting a pillow under Stella's head, they left her lying on the floor, while they ran for the firecrackers.

Sure enough they were big ones, and there were plenty of them. It would be difficult to fire them in the rain, but, as Marjorie said, it MUST be done. Keeping them carefully in a covered box, the girls went out on the little veranda, closing the door behind them. A wooden box, turned up on its side, formed sufficient protection from the rain to get a cracker lighted, and Marjorie bravely held it until it was almost ready to explode, and then flung it out into the storm. It went off, but to the anxious girls the noise seemed muffled by the rain.

They tried another and another, but with little hope that Carter would hear them.

"Let's put them all in a tin pan," said Marjorie, "and put the box on top of them to keep them dry, and then set them all off at once."

"All right," said Molly, "but I'm afraid Carter will think it's thunder."

However, it seemed the best plan, and after lighting the end of the twisted string, the girls ran into the house and shut the door.

Such a racket as followed! The crackers went off all at once. The box flew off, and the tin pan tumbled down, and the little veranda was a sight to behold!

It sounded like Fourth of July, but to the two girls, watching from the window, there was no effect of celebration.

But their desperate plan succeeded. Carter heard the racket, and did not mistake it for thunder; but, strangely enough, realized at once what it was.

"It's them crazy children in their tree-house," he exclaimed; "but what the mischief do they be settin' off firecrackers for, in the pouring rain? Howsomever I'll just go and see what's up, for like as not they've burned their fingers, if so be that they haven't put their eyes out."

As Carter started from the greenhouse, where he had been working, the torrents of rain that beat in his face almost made him change his mind, but he felt a sense of uneasiness about Marjorie, and something prompted him to go on. In a stout raincoat, and under a big umbrella, he made his way across the field through the storm toward "Breezy Inn."

"My land!" he exclaimed, "if that ladder ain't disappeared. What will them youngsters be up to next?"

But even as he noticed the broken ladder, the door flew open, and Marjorie and Molly popped their heads out.

"Oh, Carter!" Marjorie screamed; "do get a ladder, and hurry up! Ours is broken down, and Stella is struck by lightning, and, oh, Carter, do help us!"

Carter took in the situation at a glance. He said nothing, for it was no time for words. He saw the broken ladder could not be repaired in a minute; and, turning, he ran swiftly back to the barn for another ladder. A long one was necessary, and with Moses to help him they hurried the ladder across the field and raised it.

Another fortunate effect of the firecracker explosion had been to rouse Stella. Partly owing to the noise of the explosion, and partly because the effect of the shock was wearing away, Stella had opened her eyes and, realizing what had happened, promptly made up for lost time by beginning to cry violently. Also, the reaction at finding Stella herself again, and the relief caused by the appearance of Carter, made Molly and Marjorie also break down, and when Carter came bounding up the ladder he found three girls, soaking wet as to raiment, and diligently adding to the general dampness by fast-flowing tears.

"What is it, now?" he inquired, and if his tone sounded impatient, it was scarcely to be wondered at. For the battle-scarred veranda and the drenched condition of the room, together with a broken ladder, surely betokened mischief of some sort.

"Oh, Carter," cried Marjorie, "never mind us, but can't you take Stella to the house somehow? She was struck by lightning, and she's been dead for hours! She only just waked up when she heard the firecrackers! Did you hear them, Carter?"

"Did I hear them! I did that—not being deef. Faith, I thought it was the last trump! You're a caution, Miss Midget!" But even as Carter spoke he began to realize that the situation was more serious than a mere childish scrape. He had picked up little Stella, who was very limp and white, and who was still sobbing hysterically.

"Struck by lightning, is it? There, there, little girl, never mind now, I'll take care of ye."

Holding Stella gently in his arms, Carter looked out of the window and considered.

"I could take her down the ladder, Miss Midget, but it's raining so hard she'd be drenched before we could reach the house. Not that she could be much wetter than she is. Was she out in the rain?"

"No, that's where we threw water on her to make her unfaint herself. Can't we all go home, Carter? Truly we can't get any wetter, and we'll all catch cold if we don't."

"That's true," agreed Carter, as he deliberated what was best to do.

Though not a large man, Carter seemed to fill the little room with his grown-up presence, and the children were glad to shift their responsibility on to him.

"The thunder is melting away," he said at last, "and the lightning is nothin' to speak of; and a drop more of wet won't hurt you, so I think I'd better take ye all to your grandma's as soon as possible. I'll carry little Miss Stella, and do ye other two climb down the ladder mighty careful and don't add no broken necks to your distresses."

So down the ladder, which Moses on the ground was holding firmly, Carter carried Stella, who, though fully conscious, was nervous and shaken, and clung tightly around Carter's neck.

Midge and Molly followed, and then the procession struck out across the field for home.

"I s'pose," whispered Midget to Molly, "it's perfectly awful; but now that Stella's all right, I can't help thinking this is sort of fun, to be walking out in the storm, without any umbrella, and soaking wet from head to foot!"

Molly squeezed her friend's hand. "I think so, too," she whispered. "The thunder and lightning were terrible, and I was almost scared to death; but now that everything's all right, I can't help feeling gay and glad!"

And so these two reprehensible young madcaps smiled at each other, and trudged merrily along across soaking fields, in a drenching rain, and rescued from what had been a very real danger indeed.

During all this, Grandma Sherwood had been sitting placidly in her room, assuming that Marjorie was safely under shelter next door. Molly's mother had, of course, thought the same, and Stella's mother, finding the girls nowhere about, had concluded they were either at Molly's or Marjorie's.

Owing to the condition of the party he was bringing, Carter deemed it best to make an entrance by the kitchen door.

"There!" he said, as he landed the dripping Stella on a wooden chair, "for mercy's sake, Eliza, get the little lady into dry clothes as quick as you can!"

"The saints presarve us!" exclaimed Eliza, for before she had time to realize Stella's presence, Midge and Molly bounded in, scattering spray all over the kitchen and dripping little pools of water from their wet dresses.

Stella had ceased crying, but looked weak and ill. The other two, on the contrary, were capering about, unable to repress their enjoyment of this novel game.

Hearing the commotion, Grandma Sherwood came to the kitchen, and not unnaturally supposed it all the result of some new prank.

"What HAVE you been doing?" she exclaimed. "Why didn't you stay at Stella's and not try to come home through this rain?"

Marjorie, drenched as she was, threw herself into her grandmother's arms.

"Oh, if you only knew!" she cried; "you came near not having your bad little Mopsy any more! And Stella's mother came nearer yet! Why, Grandma, we were in the tree-house, and it was struck by lightning, and Stella was killed, at least for a little while, and the ladder broke down, and we couldn't get down ourselves, and so we sent off rockets of distress, I mean firecrackers, and then Carter came and rescued us all!"

As Marjorie went on with her narrative, Grandma Sherwood began to understand that the children had been in real danger, and she clasped her little grandchild closer until her own dress was nearly as wet as the rest of them.

"And so you see, Grandma," she proceeded, somewhat triumphantly, "it wasn't mischief a bit! It was a—an accident that might have happened to anybody; and, oh, Grandma dear, wasn't it a narrow squeak for Stella!"

"Howly saints!" ejaculated Eliza; "to think of them dear childer bein' shtruck be thunder, an' mighty near killed! Och, but ye're the chrazy wans! Whyever did ye go to yer tree-top shanty in such a shtorm? Bad luck to the botherin' little house!"

"Of course it didn't rain when we went there," said Marjorie, who was now dancing around Eliza, and flirting her wet ruffles at her, in an endeavor to tease the good-natured cook.

But even as they talked, Mrs. Sherwood and Eliza were taking precautions against ill effects of the storm.

Mrs. Sherwood devoted her attention to Stella, as the one needing it most, while Eliza looked after the other two.

The three children were treated to a hot bath and vigorous rubbings, and dry clothes, and in a short time, attired in various kimonos and dressing-gowns from Marjorie's wardrobe, the three victims sat in front of the kitchen range, drinking hot lemonade and eating ginger cookies.

As Marjorie had said, there had been no wrongdoing; not even a mischievous prank, except, perhaps, the breaking down of the ladder, and yet it seemed a pity that Stella should have suffered the most, when she never would have dreamed of staying at the tree-house after it began to look like rain, had it not been for the others.

However, there was certainly no scolding or punishment merited by any one; and Grandma Sherwood was truly thankful that the three were safe under her roof.

After the storm had entirely cleared away, Carter carried Stella home, and Mrs. Sherwood went with them to explain matters. Molly went skipping home, rather pleased than otherwise, to have such an exciting adventure to relate to her mother.

When Uncle Steve came home he was greatly interested in Midget's tale of the tragedy, and greatly pleased that small heroine of the occasion by complimenting her on her ingenuity in using the firecrackers. The breaking of the ladder, he declared, was an accident, and said a new and stronger one should be put up. Furthermore, he decreed that a telephone connection should be established between "Breezy Inn" and Grandma's house, so that victims of any disaster could more easily summon aid.

"That will be lovely," said Marjorie, "but they say telephones are dangerous in thunderstorms; so, perhaps, it's just as well that we didn't have one there to-day."



CHAPTER XVII

PENNYROYAL

It was several days before the children went to "Breezy Inn" again, but one pleasant sunshiny morning found them climbing the new ladder as gayly as if no unpleasant experience were connected with its memory.

Carter had cleaned up the veranda, though powder marks still showed in some places.

"Why, girls," exclaimed Marjorie, "here's our pennyroyal extract! I had forgotten every single thing about it. The high old time we had that day swept it all out of my head."

"I remembered it," said Molly, "but I thought it had to extract itself for a week."

"No, four days is enough. It must be done now; it smells so, anyway."

The girls all sniffed at the pails of spicy-smelling water, and, after wisely dipping their fingers in it and sniffing at them, they concluded it was done.

"It's beautiful," said Marjorie; "I think it's a specially fine extract, and we'll have no trouble in selling heaps of it. Don't let's tell anybody until we've made a whole lot of money; and then we'll tell Grandma it's for the Dunns, and she'll be so surprised to think we could do it."

"Where are the bottles?" asked Stella. "I can finish up the labels, while you girls are filling the bottles and tying the corks in."

"Let's tie kid over the top," suggested Molly, "like perfume bottles, you know. You just take the wrists of old kid gloves and tie them on with a little ribbon, and then snip the edges all around like they snip the edges of a pie."

"Lovely!" cried Midget, "and now I'll tell you what: let's all go home and get a lot of bottles and corks and old kid gloves and ribbons and everything, and then come back here and fix the bottles up right now."

"You two go," said Stella, who was already absorbed in the work of making labels; "that will give me time to do these things. They're going to be awfully pretty."

So Midge and Molly scampered off to their homes, and rummaged about for the materials they wanted.

They had no trouble in finding them, for the elder people in both houses were accustomed to odd demands from the children, and in less than half an hour the girls were back again, each with a basket full of bottles, old gloves, and bits of ribbon.

"Did your mother ask you what you wanted them for?" said Mops to Molly.

"No; she just told me where they were, in a cupboard in the attic; and told me to get what I wanted and not bother her, because she was making jelly."

"I got mine from Eliza, so Grandma doesn't know anything about it; and now we can keep it secret, and have a lovely surprise."

What might have seemed work, had they been doing it for some one else, was play to the children then; and Midge and Molly carefully strained their precious extract from the leaves and bottled it and corked it with care. They tied neatly the bits of old gloves over the corks, though it was not an easy task, and when finished did not present quite the appearance of daintily-topped perfume bottles.

And Stella's labels, though really good work for a little girl of eleven, were rather amateurish. But the three business partners considered the labels admirable works of art, and pasted them on the bottles with undisguised pride. Though pennyroyal was spelled with one n, they didn't notice it, and the finished wares seemed to them a perfect result of skilled labor.

"Now," said Marjorie, as she sat with her chin in her hands, gazing proudly at the tableful of bottles, "it's dinner-time. Let's all go home, and then this afternoon, after we're dressed, let's come here and get the bottles, and each take a basketful, and go and sell them."

"We'll all go together, won't we?" asked Stella, whose shyness stood sadly in the way of her being a successful saleswoman.

"Yes, if you like," said Marjorie; "we'd get along faster by going separately; but it will be more fun to go together, so that's what we'll do."

About two o'clock, the three met again at "Breezy Inn." Each was freshly attired in a spick-and-span clean gingham, and they wore large shade hats.

"I thought Grandma would suspect something when I put my hat on," said Marjorie, "because I always race out here without any, but, by good luck, she didn't see me."

"Mother asked me where I was going," said Molly, "and I told her to 'Breezy Inn.' It almost seemed deceitful, but I think, as we're working for charity, it's all right. You know you mustn't let your left hand know what your right hand is up to."

"That isn't what that means," said Stella, who was a conscientious little girl; and, indeed, they all were, for though inclined to mischief, Midge and Molly never told stories, even by implication.

"But I think it's all right," went on Stella, earnestly, "because it's a surprise. You know Christmas or Valentine's day, it's all right to surprise people, even if you have to 'most nearly deceive them."

And so with no qualms of their honest little hearts, the three started off gayly to peddle their dainty wares for the cause of charity.

"Let's go straight down to the village," suggested Molly, "and let's stop at every house on the way,—there aren't very many,— and then when we get where the houses are thicker we can go separately if we want to."

"I don't want to," insisted Stella; "I'll stay with one of you, anyway."

"All right," said Midget, "and we'll take turns in doing the talking. This is Mrs. Clarke's house; shall I talk here?"

"Yes," said Molly, "and I'll help you; and if Stella doesn't want to say anything, she needn't."

The three girls with their baskets skipped along the flower- bordered walk to Mrs. Clarke's front door and rang the bell. The white-capped maid, who answered the door, listened to their inquiries for Mrs. Clarke, looked curiously at the bottles, and then said: "Mrs. Clarke is not at home."

"Are you sure?" said Marjorie, in a despairing voice. It seemed dreadful to lose a sale because the lady chanced to be out.

"Yes," said the maid shortly, and closed the door in the very faces of the disappointed children.

Troubled, but not disheartened, the girls walked back along the path, a little less gayly, and trudged on to the next house.

Here the lady herself opened the door.

"Do you want to buy some pennyroyal extract?" began Marjorie, a little timidly, for the expression on the lady's face was not at all cordial.

"It's fine," broke in Molly, who saw that Midge needed her support; "it's lovely for mosquito bites, you just rub it on and they're all gone!"

The lady seemed to look a little interested, and Stella being honestly anxious to do her share, so far conquered her timidity as to say in a faint little voice, "We made it ourselves."

"Made it yourselves?" exclaimed the lady. "No, indeed, I don't want any!" And again the cruel door was closed upon the little saleswomen.

"It was my fault," wailed Stella, as they went away with a crestfallen air; "if I hadn't said we made it ourselves, she would have bought it. Oh, girls, let me go home and make labels. I don't like this selling, much."

Midge and Molly both felt sure that it was Stella's speech that had stopped the sale, but they were too polite to say so, and Midge answered:

"Never mind, Stella dear, I don't think she was very anxious for it, anyway, but, perhaps, at the next house you needn't say anything. You don't mind, do you?"

"Mind! No, indeed! I only said that to help along, and it didn't help."

So, at the next house, Stella was glad to stand demurely in the background, and this time Molly took her turn at introducing the subject.

A young lady was in a hammock on the veranda, and as they went up the steps she rose to greet them.

"What in the world have you there?" she said, gayly, flinging down the book she was reading and looking at the children with interest.

"Pennyroyal extract," said Molly, "perfectly fine for mosquito bites, bruises, cuts, scarlet fever, colds, coughs, or measles."

The young lady seemed to think it very amusing, and sitting down on the top step, began to laugh.

"It must be, indeed, handy to have in the house," she said; "where did you get it?"

The girls were dismayed. If they said they made it themselves, probably she wouldn't buy any. They looked at each other uncertainly, and said nothing.

"I hope you came by it honestly," went on the young lady, looking at them in surprise; "you couldn't have—of course, you didn't—"

"Of course we didn't steal it!" cried Molly, indignantly, "if that's what you mean. It's ours, our very own, every drop of it! But—we don't want to tell you where we got it."

"It sounds delightfully mysterious," said the young lady, still smiling very much, "and I don't really care where you did get it. Of course I want some, as it seems to be a very useful article, and I'm quite liable to attacks of—measles."

Marjorie looked up quickly to see if this very pretty young lady was not making fun of them, but she seemed to be very much in earnest, and, indeed, was already selecting a bottle from each of the three baskets.

"I'll take these three," she said; "how much are they?"

The girls looked at each other. Not once had it occurred to them to consider what price they were to ask, and what to say they did not know.

"Why," began Marjorie, "I should think—"

"Twenty-five cents apiece," said Molly, decidedly. She knew it was a large price, considering that the extract cost nothing, but she wanted to swell the charity funds.

"Well, that's very reasonable," said the young lady, who still seemed very much amused; "I will give you the money at once," and she took some change from a little gold purse which hung at her belt. "But if I may advise you," she went on, "you'd better raise your price. That's really too cheap for this most useful article."

The children were so astonished at this speech that they made no reply, except to thank the kind young lady, and bid her good-by.

"Now, THAT'S something like!" exclaimed Marjorie, as they reached the road again. "Wasn't she lovely? And to think, she said we ought to ask more money for the extract! This is a splendid business."

"Fine!" agreed Molly; "we'll sell off all this to-day, and to- morrow we'll make another lot and sell that. We'll get lots of money for the Dunns."

"We'll make more next time," said Midge, "and I'll get Carter to drive us round so we won't have to carry it; for we may sell two or three hundred bottles every day."

"But I can't make so many labels," said Stella, aghast at the outlook.

"Of course you can't," said Molly; "but I'll tell you what! We'll ask them to give the bottles back as soon as they've emptied them, and then we can use them over again, you know."

Midge was a little dubious about asking for the bottles back, but just then they turned into the next house.

It was Marjorie's turn to speak, and greatly encouraged by their late success, she began: "Would you like to buy some pennyroyal extract? For mosquitoes, burns, and bruises. It's only fifty cents a bottle, and we'll take the bottles back."

The lady, who had opened the door, looked at the children as if they were escaped lunatics.

"Don't come around here playing your tricks on me," she exclaimed; "I won't stand it. Take your bottles and be off!"

She did not shut the door upon them, but so irate was her expression that the girls were glad to go away.

"Wasn't she awful!" exclaimed Stella, with a troubled face. "Truly, girls, I don't like this. I'm going home."

"No, you're not, either!" said Marjorie. "Of course, it isn't all pleasant, but when you're working for charity, you mustn't mind that. And, besides, like as not the people at the next house will be lovely."

But they weren't; and one after another the people, to whom they offered their wares, refused even to look at them.

At last, when they were well-nigh discouraged, a kind lady, to whom they offered the extract, seemed a little more interested than the others.

"Why," she said, looking at Stella, "aren't you Guy Martin's little girl?"

"Yes'm," said Stella, meekly, wondering if this fact would interfere with the sale of the goods.

"Well, then, I must surely buy some," said the lady, smiling; "how much is it?"

"Fifty cents a bottle, if you give the bottle back," said Stella, who felt that the lady's friendliness toward her demanded that she should answer?

"Fifty cents a bottle!" exclaimed the lady. "Surely you can't mean that! Why, pennyroyal extract isn't worth a cent a quart!"

The girls looked genuinely disturbed. This was a different opinion, indeed, from that advanced by the pretty lady who had bought three bottles!

Marjorie suddenly began to feel as if she were doing something very foolish, and something which she ought not to have undertaken without Grandma's advice.

"Is that all it's worth, truly?" she asked, looking straightforwardly into the lady's eyes.

"Why, yes, my dear,—I'm sure it could not have a higher market value."

"Then we don't want to sell you any," said Marjorie, whose sense of honesty was aroused; and picking up her basket from the porch, she turned toward the street, walking fast, and holding her head high in the air, while her cheeks grew very red.

Molly followed her, uncertain as to what to do next, and Stella trailed along behind, a dejected little figure, indeed, with her heavy basket on her arm.



CHAPTER XVIII

WELCOME GIFTS

"It's all wrong!" declared Marjorie. "I didn't see it before, but I do now. That lady was right, and we oughtn't to try to sell anything that's worth less than a cent for fifty cents, or twenty- five either."

"Shall we go home?" asked Molly, who always submitted to Marjorie's decisions.

"I don't think it's wrong," began Stella. "Of course the pennyroyal isn't worth much, but we worked to get it, and to make it, and to fix it up and all; and, besides, people always pay more than things are worth when they're for charity."

Marjorie's opinion veered around again. The three were sitting on a large stepping-stone under some shady trees, and Marjorie was thinking out the matter to her own satisfaction before they should proceed.

"Stella, I believe you're right, after all," she said. "Now I'll tell you what we'll do: we'll go to one more place, and if it's a nice lady, we'll ask her what she thinks about it, for I'd like the advice of a grown-up."

This seemed a fair proposition, and the three wandered in at the very place where they had been sitting on the stone.

With renewed courage, they rang the door bell. It was Marjorie's turn to speak, and the words were on the tip of her tongue. Being somewhat excited, she began her speech as the door began to open.

"Don't you want to buy some pennyroyal extract?" she said rapidly; "it's perfectly fine for mosquitoes, measles, and burns, and scarlet fever! It isn't worth a cent a quart, but we sell it for fifty cents a bottle, if you give the bottles back. But if you don't think it's right for us to sell it, we won't."

Marjorie would not have been quite so mixed up in her speech but for the fact that after she was fairly started upon it, she raised her eyes to the person she was addressing, and instead of a kind and sweet-faced lady she beheld a very large, burly, and red-faced gentleman.

Not wishing to appear embarrassed, she floundered on with her speech, though in reality she hardly knew what she was saying.

"Well, upon my soul!" exclaimed the red-faced gentleman, in a loud, deep voice, "here's a pretty kettle of fish. Young ladies peddling extract at decent people's houses!" He glared at the girls with a ferocious expression, and then went on, in even louder tones: "What do you MEAN by such doings? Have you a license? Don't you know that people who sell goods without a license must be arrested? I've a notion to clap every one of you in jail!"

As might have been expected, Stella began to cry, while Midge and Molly gazed at the red-faced old man as if fascinated. They wanted to run away, but something in his look held them there; and, anyway, they couldn't go and leave Stella, who had dropped in a little heap on the floor of the piazza and hidden her face in her arms, while convulsive sobs shook her slender little frame.

At sight of Stella's tears, a sudden and wonderful change seemed to come over the old gentleman. His ferocious expression gave way to an anxious smile, and, stooping, he picked Stella up in his arms, saying: "There, there, baby! don't be frightened; that was only my joking. Why, bless your heart, I wasn't a mite in earnest. There, there, now, don't cry; I'll buy all your extract,—every single drop,—and pay any price you want; and I'll give you back all the bottles, and all the baskets, and all the extract, too, if you want it, and some lovely peaches into the bargain! There, brace up now, and forgive your old Uncle Bill for teasing you so! Jail, indeed! I'll take you into the house instead, and find some plum-cake for you!"

Carrying Stella in his big, strong arms, the strange old gentleman ushered Midge and Molly into the house and made straight for the dining-room.

"Folks all gone away," he went on, still in his gruff, deep tones, but somehow they now sounded very kind; "gone away for an all-day picnic, and left me alone to shift for myself. Jolly glad to have company—jolly glad to entertain you. Here's peaches, here's cake. Have a glass of milk?"

The old man bustled around and seemed so anxious to dispel the unpleasant impression he had made at first that Molly and Midge met him halfway, and beamed happily as they accepted the pleasant refreshments he set out.

"Fall to, fall to," he said, rubbing his big hands together, as he watched the children do justice to the feast.

The girls suddenly discovered that they were both tired and hungry, and the old gentleman's hospitality put them in a much pleasanter frame of mind.

"Now, what's all this about pineapple extract?" he inquired. "I didn't half get the hang of it, and I was only joking you when you all seemed to get scared to death."

So Marjorie told him the whole story from the beginning and asked his opinion as to the wisdom of the plan.

The old man's eyes twinkled. "I've nothing to say about that," he replied, "but I'll tell you what I'll do: I'll buy your whole stock of pennyroyal tea,—or whatever it is,—and I'll pay you ten dollars for the lot. It isn't a question of what the stuff is worth in itself, but a question of its value to me; and I'll rate that at ten dollars, and here's your money. You can spend it yourselves, or give it to your poor people, whichever you like."

"Of course we'll give it to the Dunns," declared Marjorie, "that is, if we take it, but I'm not sure that we ought to take it."

"Go 'long," cried the old man; "take it? Of course you'll take it! and give those children a feast or something. I know you, little Miss Curly Head, you're Steve Sherwood's niece, aren't you?"

"Yes," said Marjorie; "do you know Uncle Steve?"

"Know him? I should say I did! You just tell your Uncle Steve that old Bill Wallingford wanted to make a contribution to charity and he took this way! Now, little ladies, if you think you've enough for one day, nothing will give me greater pleasure than to hitch up and take you home."

The girls were glad to accept this invitation, for they had walked nearly three miles in all, with their heavy baskets; and much of the time with heavy hearts, which are a great hindrance to pedestrians.

So old Uncle Bill, as he instructed the children to call him, harnessed a pair of horses and drove the three young business women back to their respective homes.

"Well, Marjorie Maynard, where HAVE you been?" exclaimed Grandma, as Midge made her appearance.

And, then, without further delay, Marjorie told the whole story.

Uncle Steve lay back in his chair and roared with laughter, but Grandma Sherwood was not entirely amused.

"What WILL you do next, Marjorie?" she cried. "Didn't you know, child, that it is not becoming for a Maynard to go around the streets peddling things?"

"Why not, Grandma?" asked Marjorie, to whom it had never occurred there could be any objection to the occupation. Her only doubt had been as to the price they ought to ask for their goods.

"I'm not sure that I can make you understand," said Grandma, "and it isn't really necessary that you should, at present. But never again must you go out selling things to strangers."

"But we sold things for the Dunns at the bazaar," argued Marjorie.

"You can't understand the difference, my dear, so don't try. Just obey Grandma and don't ever undertake such a big enterprise as that without asking me beforehand. Why, I'm ASHAMED that you should have gone to the Clarkes' and the Fosters' and the Eliots' on such an errand! Really, Marjorie, you ought to have known better."

"But, Grandma, I thought you would be pleased, and it would make you a happy surprise."

"I am surprised, but not at all pleased. However, Mopsy, it wasn't wilful wrong on your part; it was only one of those absurd mistakes that you seem to be continually making."

"You showed a pretty good business instinct, Midget," said her uncle; "if you were a boy I'd expect you to grow up to be one of the Kings of Finance. But, after this, when you're inclined to start a large business enterprise, invite me to go in with you as partner."

"I will, Uncle Steve; but, anyway, we have ten dollars and seventy-five cents from our extract, and I don't think that's so bad."

"Indeed, it isn't," said Uncle Steve, his eyes twinkling; "whoever can get money for charity out of old Bill Wallingford is, indeed, pretty clever! I think, Grandma, that since Midge has earned this herself, she and the other girls ought to have the pleasure of spending it for the Dunns, in any way they choose."

Grandma agreed with Uncle Steve in this matter, and the result was that the next day he took the three girls to town to spend their hard-earned money.

It was always fun to go anywhere with Uncle Steve, and this occasion was a particularly joyful one, for it combined the elements of a charitable excursion and a holiday beside.

They drove first to a large shop, where they bought some clothes for the Dunns.

The girls thought that a few pretty garments, as well as useful ones, would be the nicest way to use their money. So they bought pretty straw hats and cambric dresses for the children, and a blue worsted shawl for Mrs. Dunn, and a little white cap for the baby.

"I don't suppose these things are so awful necessary," Midget confided to Uncle Steve, "but it will be such fun to see how glad they'll be to get them." Molly, who was more practical, advised some aprons and shoes and stockings, while Stella's preference was for toys.

"They don't need so many clothes in summer time," she said, "and something to amuse them will make them forget how hot it is."

It was wonderful how long that ten dollars lasted, and how many things it bought! Marjorie lost count of their expenditures, but every time she asked Uncle Steve if there was any money left, he answered, "Oh, yes, quite a bit more," and so they bought and bought, until the carriage was overflowing with bundles.

At last, Marjorie said: "Now, I'm sure the money is all gone, and I do believe. Uncle Steve, you've been adding some to it; but there are two more things I do want to buy most awfully—and they're both pink."

"I'd hate to have two pink things left out," declared Uncle Steve, "and I'm sure there's just money enough left for the two. What are they, Mopsy?"

"Well, one is a pink parasol for that Elegant Ella. Not a silk one, you know, Uncle, but a sateen one, with a little ruffle around it, and a white handle. She'd be so delighted, she'd just go crazy!"

"Let's send her crazy, then, by all means. Where do you purchase these sateen affairs?"

"Oh, at any dry-goods shop. We'll pick one out."

Into a large department store the girls went, and soon found a parasol, which, though inexpensive, was as dainty and pretty as the higher-priced silk ones. They already had a gayly-dressed doll for Hoopy Topsy, and toys for the little children.

"Now, what's the other pink thing, Midget?" asked Uncle Steve, as they all piled into the carriage again.

"Don't laugh, Uncle, but you see, it's such an awfully hot day and I really think it would comfort them to have—"

"A pink fan apiece, all 'round?"

"No, Uncle, not that at all; something much cooler than that. A can of pink ice cream!"

"Just the thing, Mops! How did you ever come to think of it? We'll take it right along with us, and after we've bestowed all this load of luggage on the unsuspecting Dunns, we'll come back here and get another can of ice cream for ourselves; and we'll take it home to a nice, little green porch I know of, and there we'll all rest after our labors, and regale ourselves."

This plan met with great favor in the eyes of the three young people most concerned, and Uncle Steve drove to the caterer's, where he bought a good-sized can of the cold comfort to add to their charitable load.

And maybe the Dunns weren't pleased with their gifts!

The tears stood in Mrs. Dunn's eyes as she thanked Marjorie and the other girls over and over for their thoughtful kindness. The Dunns were often accounted shiftless, but the poor woman found it difficult to take care of her growing family and by her industry provide for their support.

Nor had she much help from the oldest daughter. The Elegant Ella was, by nature, self-centred and vain; and though a good-natured little girl, she was not very dependable in the household.

But she was enormously pleased with her pink parasol, and after enthusiastic thanks to the donors, she raised it, and holding it over her head at a coquettish angle, she walked away to a broken- down rustic seat under a tree, and, posing herself in what she felt sure was a graceful attitude, proceeded to sit there and enjoy her welcome gift.

But when, last of all, the can of ice cream was presented, the joy of the Dunn children found vociferous expression. Hoopsy Topsy turned somersaults to show her delight, while Dibbs yelled for very glee. Carefully putting down her parasol, and laying it aside, the Elegant Ella sauntered over to where the family were gathered round the wonderful can. "Don't be in such haste," she said, reprovingly, to the boisterous children, "sit down quietly, and I will arrange that the ice cream shall be served properly."

This was too much for the amused observers in the carriage, and, picking up the reins, Uncle Steve, with a hasty good-by, drove away.

The girls leaned out of the carriage to get a last glimpse of the Elegant Ella, and saw her still trying to quell the noisy impatience of the smaller children, but apparently with little success.

"Now our duty's done, and well done," said Uncle Steve, gayly; "and now we'll go for our justly-earned reward. You chickadees may each select your favorite flavor of ice cream and then we'll get a goodly portion of each, with a fair share thrown in for Grandma and myself."

The result was a very large-sized wooden tub, which they managed to stow away in the carriage somehow, and then they drove rapidly homeward that they might enjoy their little feast in Marjorie's porch.



CHAPTER XIX

THE OLD WELL

During August the weather became excessively hot. Grandma Sherwood managed to keep the house cool by careful adjustment of awnings, blinds, and screens, but out-of-doors it was stifling.

Midge and Molly did not mind the heat much, and played out of doors all day, but Stella wilted under the sun's direct rays, and usually her mother kept her indoors until the late afternoon.

But one day the intense heat became almost too much even for the other two little girls. They had been romping in the barn, and finally sat down in the hay, very red-faced and warm.

"What can we do," said Molly, "to get cooler?"

"Let's go down by the river," said Marjorie; "it must be cooler by the water."

"Not a bit of it. The sun's too bright down there. Let's walk in the woods."

"The woods are so hot; there isn't a bit of breeze in there."

In sheer idleness of spirit the girls got up and wandered aimlessly about. Going down through the garden and across the chicken-yard, they paused a moment by the old well to get a drink.

As they turned the windlass and drew up a full bucket of water, while the empty one went down, Molly was seized with an inspiration.

"Mopsy Midget!" she exclaimed. "I'll tell you the very thing! Let's go down the well, and get cooled off!"

"How can we?" said Marjorie, who was quite ready to go, but couldn't see her way clear as to the means of transportation.

"Why, as easy as anything! You go down in one bucket, and I'll go down in the other."

"We can't get in these buckets."

"Of course not, goosey; but we can get our feet in, and then stand up, and hold on by the chain."

"We can't get our feet in flat, the buckets aren't wide enough." As she spoke, Marjorie stood on one foot and examined the sole of her other shoe, which was certainly longer than the diameter of the bucket.

"Oh, don't fuss so! We can stand on our toes a little bit. Come on—I'll go first."

"All right," and Marjorie began to enter into the spirit of the thing; "there can't be any danger, because Carter said the water was low in the well."

"Yes, all the wells are low just now—it's such dry weather. But, anyway, we won't go down as far as the water. Now listen: I'll get in this bucket and start down. You pull the other one up, and when you get it up here, pour out the water and get in yourself, and then come on down. But don't let my bucket go all the way down, because I don't want to go into the water. Put a stick through the chain when I holler up for you to do so."

"All right; hop in, it will be lots of fun, and we'll surely get cooled off."

So, while the bucket stood on the flat stones of the well-curb, Molly stepped in and wound her thin little arms around the chain.

"Push me off," she said to Marjorie, "and hang on to the other side of the chain so I won't go too fast."

"Yes, but who's going to push me off when I go down?"

"Oh, you can wriggle yourself off. Here, don't push me, I'll push off myself and show you how."

Grasping the other chain and partly supporting herself by that means, Molly, with her feet in the bucket, wriggled and pushed until the bucket went off the edge of the curb and began to slide down the well. The other bucket came up from under the water with a splash, and as both girls held the upcoming chain, Molly did not go down too fast.

"It's great!" she exclaimed, as she went slowly down. "It's perfectly lovely! It's as cold as an ice-box and the stones are all green and mossy. Look out now, Mops, I'm coming to the other bucket."

The two buckets bumped together, and Molly grabbed at the other one as it passed.

"Now, look out, Mopsy," she said, "I'm going to let go of this other bucket and then I'll only have my own chain to hang on to, so you manage it right and stick the stick through the chain when I tell you to."

The plan worked pretty well, except that it was not easy for Marjorie to keep the water-filled bucket back to balance Molly's weight. It required all her strength to pull on the upcoming chain, and she was glad, indeed, when Molly told her to push the stick in.

A stout stick pushed through a link of chain held the windlass firmly, and as Marjorie lifted the bucket full of water up on to the curb, rash little Molly swung daringly deep in the well below.

"It's awfully queer," she called up, "and I don't like it very much so low down. Gracious, Marjorie, you spilled that water all over me!"

For Marjorie had thoughtlessly emptied the water from the bucket back into the well instead of pouring it out on the ground, and though Molly's bucket swung to one side of the well, yet the child was pretty well splashed with the falling water.

But undaunted by trifles of that sort, Molly proceeded gayly to give her orders. "Now, Midget," she went on, "if your bucket's empty, set it near the edge, and get in and come on down."

Though not as absolutely reckless as Molly, Midget was daring enough, and, placing the empty bucket on the very edge of the curb, she put her feet in, and, standing on her toes with her heels against the side of the bucket, she wound her arms about the chain as Molly had done, and twisted about until the bucket fell off the edge.

Had the girls been more nearly of equal weight, their plan would have worked better; but as Marjorie was so much heavier than Molly, the laws of gravitation claimed her, and she went swiftly down.

The instant that she started, Molly realized this, and her quick wits told her that, unless stopped, Marjorie's bucket would dive deep into the water.

It was a critical situation, and had it not been for Molly's presence of mind a tragedy might have resulted. As it was, she bravely grasped at Marjorie as she passed her; and with a sudden bump, as the two buckets hit together and then fell apart, Molly clutched at Marjorie, and the buckets paused side by side, while the girls shivered and shook, partly with fear and partly with fun.

"What are we going to do?" said Molly. "If I let go of you, you'll go smash into the water, and I'll fly up to the top!"

"Keep hold of me, then," replied Midget, who had a wonderful power of adapting herself to a situation.

And so the two girls, each with one hand grasping a bucket chain and their other hands tightly clasped, stood face to face half-way down the old well.

"I don't think this is such an awfully nice place," said Marjorie, looking round at the slimy green walls which shone wet in the semi-darkness.

"Well, it's cool," retorted Molly, who was shivering in her wet clothing.

"Of course it's cool, but my feet ache, standing on my toes so long. I wonder if I couldn't sit down on the side of the bucket."

"Don't try!" exclaimed Molly, in alarm. "You'll keel over and upset us both into the water!"

"You said the water wasn't deep; perhaps it's only up to our knees; that wouldn't hurt us."

"Yes, and perhaps it's over our heads! I don't know how deep it is, I'm sure; but I must say it looks deep."

The girls peered downward and saw only a black, shining surface, with a shadowy reflection of themselves.

"Well, I've had enough of it," said Marjorie; "now, how are we going to get back again?"

"I don't know," said Molly, slowly, as if the idea had just occurred to her; "honest, Marjorie, I DON'T know."

Marjorie looked dismayed, and, indeed, so did Molly herself.

"You see," Molly went on, feeling as if she were responsible for the situation, "I forgot you're so much heavier than I am. You know the two buckets balance each other."

"Not when one is full and one is empty."

"No; but THEN there is somebody at the top to pull them up. If Carter or anybody was up there, he could pull one of us up."

"Yes, and let the other one go down in the water!"

"No; when one of us was nearly up, he could put the stick in the chain, like you did."

"Well, Carter isn't up there; I wish he was. We might scream for him, but, of course, he couldn't hear us from way down here."

"Let's try, anyway."

Both the girls screamed with all their might, separately and together, but they soon realized that their muffled voices scarcely reached the top of the well, let alone sounding across the fields to Carter.

"This is mischief, for sure," said Marjorie; "and Grandma won't like it a bit. I promised her faithfully I would try to keep out of mischief." The little girl's face was very troubled, for she had truly meant to be good and not indulge in naughty pranks.

"You didn't mean it for mischief," said Molly, consolingly; "I'm sure I didn't."

"Of course I didn't; but somehow I never seem to know what IS mischief until I get into it. But, oh, Molly, I can't stand on my toes any longer. If my feet were a little shorter, or the bucket a little wider, I could stand down flat."

"I don't seem to mind tiptoeing," said Molly; "can't you take off your shoes? Then, perhaps, you could stand flat."

"Perhaps I could," said Marjorie, doubtfully, "but I know I'll upset doing it."

But with Molly's help, and both holding carefully by the chains, Marjorie managed to get her shoes off, and tied them to the handle of the bucket by their strings.

"Well, that's a comfort," she exclaimed, as she stood firmly on the soles of her stockinged feet.

But as the minutes passed away, the girls rapidly became aware of the discomforts of their position. Their hands became bruised with the chains, their bodies grew stiff and cramped, and the damp, cold atmosphere seemed almost to stop the blood in their veins.

The two little white faces looked at each other in the glimmering twilight of the well, and all the fun faded out of the escapade, and despair gradually crept over them.

Two big tears rolled down Marjorie's cheeks as she said:

"I'm not going to cry, Molly, because there's no use of it; but, oh, Molly, what ARE we going to do?"

"I don't know, Mops. There isn't a thing to do but to stay here until Carter or somebody happens to come to draw water. You won't faint or anything, will you?"

"I don't know," said Marjorie, almost smiling at Molly's alarmed expression; "I don't believe I will, because I don't know how to faint. If I knew how I s'pose I would, for I don't think I can stay like this much longer."

Marjorie's head began to sway back and forth, and Molly, thoroughly frightened, seized her by the shoulder and shook her vigorously.

"Marjorie Maynard!" she exclaimed. "If you faint and tumble out of this bucket, I'll never speak to you again as long as I live!"

Her excited tones roused Marjorie from the faintness that was beginning to steal over her.

"I don't want to fall into the water," she said, shuddering.

"Well, then, brace up and behave yourself! Stand up straight in your bucket and hang on to the chains. Don't look down; that was what made you feel faint. We're here and we must make the best of it. We can't get out until somebody comes, so let's be plucky and do the best we can."

"Pooh! Molly Moss! I guess I can be as brave as you can! I'm not going to faint, or tumble into the water, or do anything silly! Now that I don't have to stand on tiptoe, I could stand here all day,—and Carter's bound to come for water for the cows."

Then what did those two ridiculous girls do but bravely try to outdo each other in their exhibition of pluck!

Neither complained again of weariness or cramped muscles, and finally Marjorie proposed that they tell each other stories to make the time pass, pleasantly. The stories were not very interesting affairs, for both speaker and listener were really suffering from pain and chill.

At last Molly said: "Suppose we scream some more. If Carter should be passing by, you know, he might hear us."

Marjorie was quite willing to adopt this plan, and after that they screamed at intervals on the chance of being heard.

Two mortal hours the girls hung in the well before help came, and then Carter, passing near the well, heard what seemed to him like a faint and muffled cry.

Scarcely thinking it could be the children, he paused and listened.

Again he heard a vague sound, which seemed as if it might be his own name called in despairing tones.

Guided more by instinct than reason, he went and looked over the well-curb, and was greeted with two jubilant voices, which called up to him:

"Oh, Carter, Carter, pull us up! We're down the well, and we're nearly dead!"

"Oh, my! oh, my!" groaned Carter. "Are ye drowned?"



CHAPTER XX

AN EVENTFUL DAY

"Not a bit," chirped Midget, who was determined to be plucky to the last; "we just came down here to get cooled off, and somehow we can't get up."

"Well, if ye aren't a team of Terrors!" exclaimed the exasperated Carter. "I've a good mind to let ye stay down there and GET cooled off!"

Carter was really frightened, but Marjorie's voice was so reassuring that his mood turned to anger at the children's foolishness. As he looked into the situation, however, and saw the girls clasping each other as they hung half-way down the well, his alarm returned.

"How CAN I get ye up, ye bad babies! Whichever one I pull up, the other one must go down and drown!"

The reaction was beginning to tell upon Molly, and her bravery was oozing out at her fingerends.

"Let me down," she wailed, brokenly; "it was all my fault. Save Marjorie and let me go!"

"No, indeed," cried Marjorie, gripping Molly closer; "I'm the heaviest. Let me go down and pull Molly up, Carter."

"Quit your nonsense, Miss Midget, and let me think a minute. For the life of me I don't know how to get ye out of this scrape, but I must manage it somehow."

"It's easy enough, Carter," cried Marjorie, whose gayety had returned now that a rescue seemed probable. "You pull me up first and let Molly go down, but not as far as the water,—and when I get nearly up, there's a stick through the chain that will stop me. Then I'll get out, and you can pull Molly up after."

But Molly's nerve was almost gone. "Don't leave me," she cried, clutching frantically at Midge. "Don't send me down alone, I'm so frightened!"

"But, Molly dear, it's the only way! I'd just as leave let you go up first, but I'm so heavy I'd drop ker-splash! and you'd go flying up!" But Molly wouldn't agree to go down, and she began to cry hysterically. So Carter settled the question.

"It's no use, Miss Midget," he called down, in a stern voice, "to try to send Miss Molly down. She's in no state to take care of herself, and you are. Now be a brave little lady and obey my word and I'll save you both; but if you don't mind me exactly, ye'll be drowned for sure!"

Marjorie was pretty well scared at Molly's collapse, and she agreed to do whatever Carter commanded.

"All right, then," said Carter. "Do you two let go of each other and each hang tightly to her own chain, and push your buckets apart as far as you can, but don't hit the sides of the well."

Somewhat inspirited at the thought of rescue, Molly took a firm hold of her chain and pushed herself loose from Marjorie. Marjorie had faith in Carter's promises, but she felt a sinking at her heart as she began to descend the dark well and came nearer and nearer to the black water.

With great care, Carter drew up the bucketful of Molly, and when Midge's bucket was still at a safe distance above the water, he stayed the chain with a stick, and pulled Molly the rest of the way up merely by his own strong muscles.

He safely landed the bucket on the curb, and picking the exhausted child out, laid her on the grass, without a word.

He then went back to the well and spoke very decidedly to Marjorie.

"Miss Midget," he said, "now I'll pull ye up, but ye must do your share of helpin'. When ye reach the other bucket, shove it aside, that it doesn't hit ye. Stand straight and hold tight, now!"

Marjorie did as she was told, and, slowly but steadily, Carter pulled her up. At last she, too, was once again out in the sunlight, and she and Molly sat on the grass and looked at each other, uncertain whether to laugh or cry.

"It was a narrow escape," said Carter, shaking his head at them, "and what puts such wicked mischief into your heads, I don't know. But it's not for me to be reprovin' ye. March into the house now, and tell your Grandma about it, and see what she says."

"I'll go in," said Marjorie, "but if you'd rather, Molly, you can go home. I'll tell Grandma about it, myself."

"No," said Molly, "it was my fault. I coaxed you into it, and I'm going to tell your grandma about it."

"I was just as much to blame as you, for I didn't have to go down the well just because you coaxed me. But I'll be glad if you will come with me, for, of course, we can explain it better together."

Hand in hand the two culprits walked into the room where Mrs. Sherwood sat sewing.

They were a sorry-looking pair, indeed! Their pretty gingham frocks were limp and stringy with dampness, and soiled and stained from contact with the buckets and the moss-grown sides of the well.

Marjorie had been unable to get her shoes on over her damp, torn stockings, and as Molly's head had been drenched with water, she presented a forlorn appearance.

Grandma Sherwood looked at them with an expression, not so much of surprise, as amused exasperation.

"I'm glad you weren't killed," she said, "but you look as if you had come very near it. What have you been up to now?"

"We haven't been up at all, Grandma," said Marjorie, cheerfully, "we've been down—in the well."

"In the well!" exclaimed Mrs. Sherwood, her face blank with surprise. "Marjorie, what can I do with you? I shall have to send you home before your vacation is over, unless you stop getting into mischief! Did you fall down?"

"It was my fault, Mrs. Sherwood," said Molly; "truly, I didn't mean mischief, but it was such a hot day and I thought it would be cool down the well—"

"And it was," interrupted Marjorie; "and we had a pretty good time,—only I was too heavy and I went down whizz—zip! And Molly came flying up, and if we hadn't caught each other, I s'pect we'd both have been drowned!"

Grandma Sherwood began to realize that there had been not only mischief but real danger in this latest escapade.

"Molly," she said, "you may go home, and tell your mother about it, and I will talk it over with Marjorie. I think you were equally to blame, for, though Molly proposed the plan, Marjorie ought not to have consented."

So Molly went home and Mrs. Sherwood had a long and serious talk with her little granddaughter. She did not scold,—Grandma Sherwood never scolded,—but she explained to Marjorie that, unless she curbed her impulsive inclinations to do reckless things, she would certainly make serious trouble for herself and her friends.

"It doesn't matter at all," she said, "who proposes the mischief. You do just as wrong in consenting to take part, as if you invented the plan yourself."

"But, Grandma, truly I didn't see any harm in going down the well to get cooled off. The buckets are big and the chains are very strong, and I thought we would just go down slowly and swing around awhile and pull ourselves up again."

"Oh, Midget, will you never learn commonsense? I know you're only twelve, but it seems as if you ought to know better than to do such absurd things."

"It does seem so, Grandma, and I'll try to learn. Perhaps if you punish me for this I'll grow better. Punishment most always does me good."

Grandma Sherwood suppressed a smile.

"I always punish you, Midget, when you do wrong through forgetfulness, because I think punishment helps your memory. But I don't think you'll ever FORGET that you're not to go down the well again. But next time it will be some other dreadful thing; something totally different, and something that it would never occur to me to warn you against. However, I do want you to remember not to do things that endanger your life, so I think I shall punish you for this morning's performance. You may remain in your own room all the afternoon,—at least, until Uncle Steve comes home."

Grandma's command was not so much for the sake of punishing Marjorie as the thought that the child really needed a quiet afternoon of rest after her experience of the morning.

Marjorie sighed a little, but accepted her fate, and after dinner went to her room to spend the afternoon. It was not a great hardship, for there was plenty of entertainment there, and had it been a rainy day, she could have occupied herself happily. But the knowledge that she was there as a punishment weighed on her mind, and depressed her spirits; and she wandered idly about the room, unable to take an interest in her books or toys.

Grandma looked in from time to time and gave her an encouraging smile and a few words of comfort; for, though intending to be strict with Midget, like all other grandmas, Mrs. Sherwood greatly preferred to be indulgent.

After a while Molly came over, and, as she seemed so penitent and full of remorse, Mrs. Sherwood told her that, if she chose, she might go up to Marjorie's room and share her imprisonment.

Nothing loath, Molly trotted upstairs, and the lonesome Marjorie was glad, indeed, to see her. After a short discussion of the affair of the morning, Marjorie said, with her usual inclination to keep away from disagreeable subjects: "Don't let's talk about it any more. Let's have some good fun up here. I'm so glad Grandma let you come up."

"All right," said Molly, "what shall we do?"

"Let's make paper dresses. Here's a stack of newspapers Grandma was going to throw away, and I saved them."

"Goody! What fun! Shall we pin or sew?"

"We'll pin till the pins give out, and then we'll sew."

"Paper dresses" was a favorite pastime with the children. Usually Stella was with them, and they depended a good deal on her taste and skill. But to-day they had to manage without her, and so the dresses, though fairly well made, were not the fashionable garments Stella turned out.

A whole double sheet of newspaper was long enough for a skirt, which, in a paper dress, was always down to the floor, like grown- up gowns, and usually had a long train. Sometimes they pasted the papers together, and sometimes pinned or sewed them, as the mood served.

The waists were often quite elaborate with surplice folds, and puffy sleeves, and wide, crushed belts.

So absorbed did they grow in their costumes that the time passed rapidly. At last they stood, admiring each other, in their finished paper gowns, with paper accessories of fans, hats, and even parasols, which were considered great works of art.

"Let's play we're going riding in an automobile," said Molly.

"All right; what shall be the automobile—the bed?"

"No, that isn't high enough. I don't mean a private automobile, I mean one of those big touring things where you sit 'way up high."

"Let's get up on top of the wardrobe."

"No, that's too high, and the bureau isn't high enough. Let's get out on the roof and hang our feet over."

"No," said Marjorie, decidedly; "that would be getting into mischief; and besides, I promised Grandma I wouldn't leave the room. Come on, Molly, let's climb up on the wardrobe. There can't be any harm in that, and 'twill be lots of fun."

"How can we get up?"

Marjorie looked at the wardrobe and meditated. "Easy enough," she said after a moment: "we'll just put a chair on the table and climb up as nice as pie!"

The girls worked energetically, yet careful not to tear their paper costumes; and removing the things from a strong square table, they pushed it up to the wardrobe. On this they set a chair, and Marjorie volunteered to go up first, saying that, if it didn't break down with her, it surely wouldn't with Molly.

So Molly held the table firmly, while Marjorie climbed up and, though it required some scrambling, she finally reached the top of the heavy wardrobe, without more than a dozen tears in her paper dress.

"Bring up my parasol, Molly," she said, "I forgot it; and bring some papers and the scissors, and we'll make some automobile goggles."

Laden with these things, Molly briskly started to climb up. The light, wiry child sprang easily on to the table, and then on to the chair. Marjorie lent a helping hand, but just as Molly crawled up to the top of the wardrobe, her flying foot kicked the chair over, which in turn upset the table.

"Now, you HAVE done it!" said Marjorie. "How are we going to get down?"

"It seems to me," said Molly, grimly, "that we're always getting into places where we can't get down, or can't get up, or something."

"Never mind; Jane or somebody will come along soon and set the table up again for us."

It really was great fun to play they were on a high motor car seeing New York. But after a while the game palled, and their paper dresses became torn, and the girls wanted to get down and play something else.

But neither Jane nor any one else happened to come along, and though Marjorie called a few times, nobody seemed to be within hearing.

"I should think we could find some way to get down," said Molly. "Can't you think of any way, Mops?"

Marjorie considered. To jump was out of the question, as it would probably mean a sprained ankle.

"I wish we had a rope ladder," she said, "and, Molly, I do believe we can make one. Not a ladder, exactly, but don't you know how people sometimes escape from prisons by tying sheets together and letting themselves down?"

"Yes, but we haven't any sheets."

"I know it, but we can take our dress skirts. Not the paper ones, but our own gingham ones. They're strong, thick stuff, and we can tie them together somehow and let ourselves down that way."

Although obliged to work in somewhat cramped quarters, the girls managed to take off their dress skirts, and, as they were very full, one of them was really sufficient to reach far enough down the side of the wardrobe to make a jump possible.

"I'll tell you what," said Marjorie: "let's tie the two together at the corners like this, and then put it right across the top of the wardrobe, and each of us slide down on opposite sides."

When the full skirts were stretched out to their greatest width and tied together by their hems, at what Marjorie called a corner, the girls flung the whole affair across the top of the wardrobe, and sure enough, the skirts hung down on either side to within four or five feet of the floor, which was quite near enough to jump.

So thick and strong was the material, there was really no danger of tearing it, and in great glee the girls grasped their life-line and half slid, half clambered down.

They came down on the floor with a sudden thump, but in safety. All would have been well had they had sense enough to let go of their gingham skirts, but, doubled up with laughter, they clung to them, with the result that a sudden and unintentional jerk forward brought the whole wardrobe over on its face, and it fell crashing to the floor.

Such a racket as it made! It fell upon a small table, whose load of vases and bric-a-brac was totally wrecked. It also smashed a chair and very nearly hit the bird-cage.

And just at this moment, of all times, Uncle Steve appeared at the door!

Although dismayed at the catastrophe, Uncle Steve couldn't help laughing at the astonished faces of the two girls. For, jubilant at the success of their descent, the accompanying disaster had been thrust on them so suddenly that they scarcely knew what it all meant. And costumed as they were, in their little ruffled white petticoats, with hats and bodices made of newspaper, the sight was a comical one indeed.

"Marjorie Maynard!" exclaimed Uncle Steve, "you certainly DO beat the Dutch, and Molly lends you valuable aid. Would you mind telling me WHY you prefer the wardrobe flat on its face instead of in an upright position?"

"Oh, Uncle Steve it upset itself, and I'm so sorry!"

"Oh, well, if it upset itself I suppose it did so because it prefers to lie that way. Probably it was tired and wanted to rest. Wardrobes are a lazy lot, anyway. But do you know, I was stupid enough to think that you girls had something to do with its downfall."

"Oh, we did, Uncle Steve," declared Marjorie, and as by this time her uncle's arm was around her, and she realized his sympathetic attitude in the matter, she rapidly began to tell him all about it.

"We were playing automobile, you see—"

"Oh, well, if it was an automobile accident, it's not at all surprising. Was it reckless driving, or did you collide with something?"

"We collided with the table," said Marjorie, laughing; but just then Grandma Sherwood appeared, and somehow the look of consternation on her face seemed to take all the fun out of the whole affair.

But Uncle Steve stood between Marjorie and a reprimand, and in consequence of his comical explanation of the disaster, Mrs. Sherwood fell to laughing, and the tragedy became a comedy.

And then, at Uncle Steve's orders, the girls were made tidy, and he took them out for a drive, while the long-suffering Carter was called in to remove all evidences of the dreadful automobile accident.

THE END