Ernest had spoken the truth, the aforesaid clothes were not anywhere. The boys exchanged glances both wrathful and sheepish. Ernest had already exhausted every swear word that his mother's presence permitted. Sherm, also restrained by her presence--he had retired to bed while she searched their room and closet--thought all the exclamations he hesitated to utter. Three young young ladies in the arbor beneath listened to such fragments of conversation as floated down to them with unholy glee. "Well, Ernest, they're certainly not here; I'll go look in Chicken Little's room." Ernest accompanied her. Sherm scrambled out of bed and speedily resumed his ordinary wearing apparel. He was startled to perceive a bulky object suddenly darken their window. It was a peculiar-looking bundle from which coat sleeves and trousers' legs dangled indiscriminately. He had no difficulty in recognizing their missing clothes. He rushed to the window and raised the screen, calling to Ernest excitedly. He half expected to see the things disappear as mysteriously as they had come, but the bundle remained stationary. It had been raised to the window by means of a pulley contrived from an old clothes line and the hanging basket hook. The end of the cord was hidden in the arbor. The boys secured their possessions, hastily assuring themselves that they were all there. Mrs. Morton started thankfully downstairs, but had barely reached the foot when a vigorous exclamation and a loud "Mother!" recalled her. Mrs. Morton had never seen Ernest so furious. Sherm didn't say much, but his face was wrathfully red. "What now?" "Look at this!" Ernest's voice was tragic as he held the garment up to view. His trousers' legs had been neatly stitched across twice on the sewing machine. Sherm's, ditto. All four pair of sleeves were also carefully stitched with a tight tension, so they could not be readily ripped out. Mrs. Morton looked aghast. "It will take an hour to get that out!" "Confound those kids! Mother, you can just make those smarties come rip that stitching out!" "My son, whom are you addressing?" "Well, Mother, I didn't mean to be disrespectful, but this is a little more than I can stand! Wait till I get my hands on Jane!" "You would do well to remember, Ernest, that you started this practical joking yourself. I hope it will be a lesson to you to refrain from such pranks in future." "We didn't do anything but carry the bread over to the Captain without telling them. That's where they wanted it to go." Mrs. Morton gasped. "Did you take the whole baking?" "Sure, wasn't that what you wanted?" Mrs. Morton considered a moment before replying. "Well, Ernest, you boys have brought this annoyance upon yourselves--I think you will have to accept the consequences. I am too tired to fuss with the stitching to-night. If you go to Jenkinses you will have to wear your every day suits." "But Mother!" Mrs. Morton was already descending the stairs; she did not respond.