The next afternoon, a warm Sunday, a strange thing happened. West House in full force filed out of the gate, along the road and in through the entrance to the Curtis place. The invitation had been delivered by Molly after church at noon, with Miss Matilda standing watchfully by and Miss Lydia beaming and nodding over her shoulder. It was a momentous event, for nothing of the sort had ever happened before in the history of West House. The boys had attired themselves in their Sunday best and were a very meek and well-behaving group as they mounted the porch and rang the bell. Spud pretended to be the victim of a vast and overwhelming terror and grasped Sandy’s arm convulsively when they heard the bell jangle inside. “I would I were away,” he muttered. “Ah, woe is me!”
[268]
To their relief it was Molly herself, Molly in a stiffly starched muslin dress, who opened the door to them. They filed decorously in, deposited their hats and caps on the marble table in the hall and right-wheeled into the parlor. There they seated themselves in a circle about the room and felt very awkward and uncomfortable. Molly did her best to set her guests at ease, but the task was a difficult one. The assemblage was like her dress, very stiff and starchy. They discussed morning service, the weather, Spud’s new necktie and the pictures on the walls, and just when things did seem to be thawing out the least little bit there was the sound of footfalls on the stairs and instantly the guests froze into immobility.
Entered Miss Matilda followed by Miss Lydia. The guests arose as one man, painfully polite and serious. Miss Matilda motioned them back to their seats. Down they sat with a unanimity that suggested previous rehearsals. Miss Matilda announced that she was very glad to see them, and Sandy murmured—well, nobody ever knew what he murmured. But the tone was quite correct and the murmur served the purpose. Miss Lydia, plainly embarrassed, smoothed her black silk gown over her knees[269] and smiled. Conversation proceeded by fits and starts. It went like a trolley car in a crowded street. Just when they thought it was nicely started, with a clear track ahead, it stopped with a bump. Then, after a dismal silence off it started once more with a jerk. Miss Matilda, Molly, Sandy and Spud were the principal conversationalists. Molly supplied subjects, Miss Matilda frowned them aside, Sandy rescued them and Spud babbled. Babbled is the only word for Spud’s efforts. He babbled of the weather and the dust in the streets and Mrs. Linn’s tonsilitis—a mild attack of no importance save as a subject for discourse—and finally of Molly’s tennis. The others looked on in evident and often open-mouthed admiration and awe. Strangely enough it was Spud’s last babble that cleared the conversational track for several blocks, so to speak.
“Well, I’m glad she’s doing nicely at it,” said Miss Matilda with a sniff, “though I don’t see why she wants to learn it. In my day young girls didn’t race around hitting rubber balls with snowshoes.”
“It’s—it’s a very pleasant game,” suggested Spud, vastly encouraged by his success,[270] “and quite—er—popular nowadays, ma’am.”
“Popular! I dare say; most anything that’s silly enough is popular these days, it seems. When I was a girl sewing and embroidery, yes, and plain cooking, were popular.”
“Yes’m.”
“Well, I don’t say but what this tennis may be good for Molly. I guess most anything that will keep her nose out of books for awhile will be beneficial. And it’s very kind of you young gentlemen to teach her the game.”
“Not at all, Miss Curtis,” protested Sandy.
“I say it is,” responded Miss Matilda firmly. “Boys don’t usually like to have girls about them. I told Molly that when she first asked me to let her go over to your house. She said you were different.” Miss Matilda smiled briefly. “Maybe you are. My experience with boys makes me convinced that they’re all pretty much alike. I haven’t anything especial against them, though they most usually have dirty shoes—” Eight pair of feet crept under eight chairs—“and are noisy. And sometimes they don’t pay much attention to the eighth commandment.” Rapid glances were exchanged between her hearers. Dutch was[271] plainly striving to recall which commandment was which. Miss Matilda arose in her majesty. “Come, Lydia,” she said. Miss Lydia obeyed, casting a final embarrassed smile over the circle. At the door Miss Matilda paused. “I hope you will come again,” she said quite graciously. “It will be very pleasant for my niece. We will be glad to see you any time so long as you behave yourselves.”
Exit Miss Matilda and Miss Lydia.
Spud drew a long breath that seemed to come from his shoes and glanced about him.
“Did anybody speak?” he inquired. Molly giggled softly. The footsteps of the Misses Curtis died away upstairs.
“I guess,” said Sandy, looking around for confirmation, “that we’ll have to be going back now.”
“Yes,” said Hoop and The Fungus in a breath.
“Oh, please!” exclaimed Molly. “Let’s go out to the shed. It’s dandy out there; and there are lots of apples.”
“Well—” began Sandy hesitatingly. But Molly had already jumped up and was leading the way. The boys seized their caps from the table and followed her down the steps and[272] around the side of the house. At Molly’s command the sliding door was pushed back and a fervid aroma of apples met them.
“Now let’s bring some of those boxes over here by the door,” she said, “and sit down. Two of you can have the wheelbarrow.”
Presently they were all seated, Spud and Cal on an empty barrel which creaked ominously whenever they stirred, but not before Molly had led the way to the best apples and they had supplied themselves therewith.
“I’m awfully fond of apples,” she announced from her seat on a soap box by the door. “Aren’t you?” She addressed Sandy.
“Yes,” he answered, “and these are dandies; aren’t they, Ned?”
“Great,” Ned agreed with gusto. “I don’t believe we ever knew about these.”
There was a moment of deep silence. Then Molly threw back her head with a peal of laughter and the boys, looking silly and sheepish, finally joined in. So far the incident of the midnight adventure in the orchard had not been mentioned between them. But now Spud said:
“That was a great joke you played on us that night, Molly.”
[273]
 
Presently they were all seated
[274-
275]
“Were you awfully angry when Cal told you?” she asked.
“No. Only Sandy. He was sort of peeved.”
“I?” said Sandy in surprise. “Not at all.” He frowned at Spud, but that irrepressible young gentleman went on.
“I guess you didn’t know, Molly,” he said, “that Ned was appointed a committee of one to—”
“Shut up, Spud!” growled Ned.
“To get that pillow-case back. Ned’s our diplomat. Whenever he is extra nice to you you must be very careful. That’s his diplomacy. He’s after the pillow-case.”
“Oh, I’m not afraid,” answered Molly. “No one knows where it is, you see.”
“I do,” said Cal.
“Where?” asked Spud. But Molly gave a cry of alarm.
“Don’t tell him, Cal! Don’t you dare!”
“I guess it wouldn’t do him much good if I did,” said Cal. “He couldn’t get it.”
“N-no, I suppose not. Perhaps some day if you’re all just awfully nice to me I’ll give it back to you.”
“Tell us about it,” said Ned. “How did you fix yourself up that night?”
[276]
So Molly recounted her adventures, and by leaning forward they could see the rain-spout that she had clambered up and down by. Viewing it was, however, disastrous to Spud and Cal, for an empty barrel set on its side is at best an uncertain seat, and now when they both leaned forward the barrel “took it into its head,” as Spu............