"Grandmother," Janet began again, "I am sorry if I worried you by being out late." "Who told you I was worried?" Mrs. Page demanded. "Martha," Janet said. "Martha talks too much," Mrs. Page snapped. "I was worried, but you are back now so don't talk any more about it." Janet left the room, closing the door very softly behind her. In the hall she studied the grandfather's clock with apparent interest, but it is a question whether she saw it at all. She was realizing for the first time in her life that her grandmother was a very old lady. Martha called her, and she went in to her dinner. CHAPTER X PETER Martha was cleaning house; rugs were hanging in the kitchen yard and clouds of dust testified to the strength of her arm. Indoors all the chairs were turned over, and white sheets covered the rest of the furniture. Janet and Boru fled to the "widow's walk" to escape. "I hate house cleaning," Janet complained; "if I ever have a house of my own I will go away on a trip and not come back until there's enough dust to make things look comfy again." Boru, who had a marked respect for Martha's broom, folded his paws over his nose and looked sympathetic. "I wonder what will happen to-day," Janet went on; "everything has been so exciting for the last few weeks that I love to wake up in the morning. I wonder if it wasn't all a dream about Mrs. Todd and that absurd little man and Peter. I don't really believe that I ever paddled that canoe yesterday at all." A whistle interrupted her musings, and she leaned over the railing and saw Harry Waters at the garden gate. "What do you want?" she called. It was a little time before Harry could locate her, but when he did he beckoned. "Come on down." "All right, wait a minute,"--Janet sighed. Harry was not the form of excitement she would have chosen for the day, but he was better than talking to Boru or listening to Martha's beating the rugs. "Hello," she greeted when she had joined him in the garden. "How's Roy?" "Oh, he's all right. He caught a rabbit the other day." Harry bragged as though the credit were his. "I think that was horrid of him. That's just the trouble with those hunting dogs,"--Janet flared up--"they are always catching some poor little animal that never did anybody any harm. If Boru ever did such a thing I would whip him good and hard, I can tell you." Boru hung his head; no doubt the memory of countless innocent rabbits weighed heavily on his doggish conscience. "Ah, shucks," Harry grumbled; "that's just like a girl. They make a fuss and even kiss a dog if it gets a splinter in its paw, but the minute one does something worth while they want to whip it." "Well, I don't like to think of a little dead bunny. They're so soft and snuggly,"--Janet defended herself; "and I don't care who knows it." "Scared!" The word was hardly out of Harry's mouth before he regretted it. Janet eyed him with so much scorn that words were unnecessary.