“So you’d better stand farther off from that fence. I was real mean to you girls once, and I’m sorry enough now. But I hadn’t ought to play with you, for maybe _I’ll_ have the quarantine, too, and I’ll give it to you if you come too close.” “But we can play games together without coming too near,” said Tess, her kind heart desiring to help their neighbor. “We’ll play keep house—and there’ll be a river between us—and we can talk over a telephone—and all that.” And soon the three little girls were playing a satisfying game together and Mabel’s tears were dried and her heart comforted for the time being. That night at dinner, however, Dot waxed curious. “Is quarantine a very bad disease? Do folks die of it?” she asked. So the story came out, and the older girls laughed at the young one’s mistake. It was learned that all the Creamer children save Mabel had the measles. Ruth, however, was more puzzled about the novelty of a cat eating peanut butter and walnut creams than Dot had been about that wonderful disease, “quarantine.” CHAPTER XVII “MRS. TROUBLE” “You girls go through this pantry,” complained Mrs. McCall, “like the plague of locusts. There isn’t a doughnut left. Nor a sugar cookie. I managed to save some of the seed-cakes for tea, if you should have company, by hiding them away. “I honestly thought I made four apple pies on Monday; I can’t account but for three of them. A hearty appetite is a good gift; but I should suggest more bread and butter between meals, and less sweets.” Ruth took the matter up with the Corner House girls in convention assembled: “Here it is only Thursday, and practically all the week’s baking is gone. We must restrain ourselves, children. Remember how it used to be a real event, when we could bake a raisin cake on Saturday? We have no right to indulge our tastes for sweets, as Mrs. McCall says. Who knows? We may have to go back to the hard fare of Bloomingsburg again, sometime.” “Oh, never!” cried Agnes, in alarm. “You don’t mean that, sister?” asked Tess, worried. “Then we’d better eat all the good things we can, now,” Dot, the modern philosopher, declared. “You don’t mean that, Ruth,” said Agnes, repeating Tess’ words. “There is no doubt but that Uncle Peter meant us to have this house and all his money, and we’ll have it for good.” “Not for bad, I hope, at any rate,” sighed Ruth. “But we must mind what Mrs. McCall says about putting our hands in the cookie jars.” “But, if we get hungry?” Agnes declared. “Then bread and butter will taste good to us,” finished Ruth. “I am sure I haven’t been at the cookie jar any more than usual this week,” the twelve-year-old said. “Nor me,” Tess added. “Maybe Sandy did it,” suggested Dot. “She ate up all the dolls’ dinner—greedy thing!” Agnes was puzzled. She said to the oldest Corner House girl when the little ones were out of earshot: “I wonder if it _was_ that cat that ate the dolls’ feast yesterday?”