Something seemed to have gone out of the gayety of the day. What it was or what made it go or where it went, Maida could not guess. Perhaps it was a quality in Granny’s air and words. At any rate she said instantly, “I’m going right in there, Granny, and Rosie will you please tell the boys to come at once?” Rosie too had caught an infection of this seriousness. She sped to the barn. In three minutes, the Big Six had gathered in the living room. Mr. Westabrook was sitting on the couch in front of the fire. “Good afternoon, children,” he said quietly. “I told Granny to ask you to come here the instant you came home, because I had something to say to you. It occurred to me to-day that I would come over to the Little House when you didn’t expect me and make an inspection. Hitherto I have come regularly every Sunday. This is Thursday. I’m glad I did because I found that neither the flower garden nor the vegetable garden had been weeded for the last three days. The barn was in a very disorderly confusion. I asked Granny how the girls had left their rooms and although she didn’t want to tell me, she had to say that the beds were not made and apparently nothing had been done. But the worst thing of all that I have to say is that I find that the tennis court is all kicked up as though it had been played on after a shower without having first been rolled.” There was an instant of silence in the room; a silence so great that everybody could hear quite plainly the ticking of the grandfather’s clock. Arthur spoke first. “Mr. Westabrook,” he said in a low voice, “we ought to be ashamed of ourselves and I certainly am. After all your kindness to us--I won’t try to make any excuses because there are no excuses we can make.” “It’s all my fault,” Harold admitted, “I’m supposed to run the boys’ end of the work and I have not held them up to keeping everything right.” “It isn’t your fault,” Dicky declared hotly, “no more than mine or Arthur’s. We’re all to blame.” “I’m awfully ashamed of myself, Mr. Westabrook,” Rosie confessed almost in a whisper. “I wouldn’t blame you if you _never_ forgave us, but I hope you will.” “I don’t know how we got this way,” Laura said in perplexity. “We began right.” “We’ve been having such a good time,” Maida explained in a grave tone, “that we’ve just let ourselves get careless.” “Then,” Mr. Westabrook advised them, rising, “try not to let yourselves get careless again.” He shook hands all around; and kissed his daughter. “Fair warning,” he said, “I don’t know when I’m coming again, but it won’t be when you expect me.” It was a very subdued and a very tired little trio of girls who went up-stairs and attended to their rooms. It was an even more subdued--though a less tired--trio of boys who put the barn in order and then trailing the turtle at the end of his rope, walked down to the Magic Mirror, and tied him to a tree, and deposited him in the water there for the night. CHAPTER XVIII EXPIATION