“You march straight out of here!” she commanded. Penrod marched. He was stunned; obeyed automatically, without question, and had very little realization of what was happening to him. Altogether, and without reason, he was in precisely the condition of an elderly spouse detected in flagrant misbehaviour. Marjorie, similarly, was in precisely the condition of the party who detects such misbehaviour. It may be added that she had acted with a promptness, a decision and a disregard of social consequences all to be commended to the attention of ladies in like predicament. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself!” she raged, when they reached the lawn. “Aren't you ashamed of yourself?” “What for?” he inquired, helplessly. “You be quiet!” “But what'd _I_ do, Marjorie? _I_ haven't done anything to you,” he pleaded. “I haven't even seen you, all aftern----” “You be quiet!” she cried, tears filling her eyes. “Keep still! You ugly boy! Shut up!” She slapped him. He should have understood from this how much she cared for him. But he rubbed his cheek and declared ruefully: “I'll never speak to you again!” “You will, too!” she sobbed, passionately. “I will not!” He turned to leave her, but paused. His mother, his sister Margaret, and their grownup friends had finished their tea and were approaching from the house. Other parents and guardians were with them, coming for their children; and there were carriages and automobiles waiting in the street. But the “Slingo Slide” went on, regardless. The group of grown-up people hesitated and came to a halt, gazing at the pavilion. “What are they doing?” gasped Mrs. Williams, blushing deeply. “What is it? What IS it?” “WHAT IS IT?” Mrs. Gelbraith echoed in a frightened whisper. “WHAT----” “They're Tangoing!” cried Margaret Schofield. “Or Bunny Hugging or Grizzly Bearing, or----” “They're only Turkey Trotting,” said Robert Williams. With fearful outcries the mothers, aunts, and sisters rushed upon the pavilion. “Of course it was dreadful,” said Mrs. Schofield, an hour later, rendering her lord an account of the day, “but it was every bit the fault of that one extraordinary child. And of all the quiet, demur little things--that is, I mean, when she first came. We all spoke of how exquisite she seemed--so well trained, so finished! Eleven years old! I never saw anything like her in my life!” “I suppose it's the New Child,” her husband grunted. “And to think of her saying there ought to have been champagne in the lemonade!” “Probably she'd forgotten to bring her pocket flask,” he suggested musingly. “But aren't you proud of Penrod?” cried Penrod's mother. “It was just as I told you: he was standing clear outside the pavilion----” “I never thought to see the day! And Penrod was the only boy not doing it, the only one to refuse? ALL the others were----” “Every one!” she returned triumphantly. “Even Georgie Bassett!”