No sooner said than done. The little band of conspirators slipped from the room, and stood without on the square landing, five short-frocked girls all gazing eagerly, confidently, into the face of their leader. "Pixie, what shall we do?" Pixie racked her brains in despair, for not a single idea would come to her aid, and yet to acknowledge such a want of invention would have been to forfeit her position, and therefore not to be thought of for a second. Her eyes roamed from side to side, and lit upon a table on which some working materials happened to be lying. A basket, a folded length of cloth, and a roll of wide green binding such as was used to edge old-fashioned window-curtains. Pixie looked at it thoughtfully, fingered it to ascertain its weight, shook it out to discover its length, and cried eagerly-- "Just the thing! Might have been made for it. Would you like to see me lasso the next person who comes upstairs?" "Lasso!" The girls were not quite sure of the meaning of the word, but Pixie explained it, suiting the action to the word. A lasso was a rope with a noose at one end--so! and it was used to catch wild horses, or anything else you happened to chase. You stood with the rope gathered up in your hand--so! and then took aim and sent it flying out suddenly--so! Pat could do it beautifully, and he had taught her too, but she could not always manage very well. If you caught a girl from above, she would be startled out of her wits, and squeal like anything. It would be splendid fun. The next one, then, who came upstairs! The girls were divided between horror and delight. Dared she? Really! Would it hurt? What would Miss Phipps say? Did she really think she ought? But their agitation acted as fuel to Pixie's determination, and she would only laugh and lean over the banisters, experimenting with the long green rope, and altering the length until it met with her approval.