They had planned to devote that afternoon to playing bury-you-alive under the yellow sofa in Mrs. Richie's parlor, but this idea of Elizabeth's made it necessary to hide in the "cave"--a shadowy spot behind the palmtub in the greenhouse--for reflection. Once settled there, jostling one another like young pigeons, it was David who, as usual, made the practical objections: "We haven't any money." "I suppose we could get all the money we want out of my mother's cash-box," Blair admitted, wavering. "That's stealing," Elizabeth said. "You can't steal from your mother," Nannie defended her brother. "I'll marry you, Elizabeth," Blair said, with sudden enthusiastic decision. But David demurred: "I think _I'd_ like Elizabeth. I'm not sure I want to marry Nannie." "You said Nannie's hair was the longest, only yesterday!" Blair said, angrily. "But I like Elizabeth's color of hair. Nannie, do you think I'd like you to marry best, or Elizabeth?" "I don't believe the color of hair makes any difference in being married," Nannie said, kindly. "And anyway, you'll have to marry me, David, 'cause Blair can't. He's my brother." "He's only your half-brother," David pointed out. "You can have Nannie," said Blair, "or you can stay out of the play." "Well, I'll marry Nannie," David said, sadly; and Blair proceeded to elaborate the scheme. It was very simple: the money in Mrs. Maitland's cash-box would pay their fare to--"Oh, anywhere," Blair said, then hesitated: "The only thing is, how'll we get it?" "I'll get it for you," Nannie said, shuddering. "Wouldn't you be scared?" Blair asked doubtfully. Everybody knew poor Nannie was a 'fraid-cat. "Little people," somebody called from the parlor, "what are you chattering about?" The children looked at one another in a panic, but Blair called back courageously, "Oh, nothing." "Perhaps," said Mrs. Richie, smiling at Mr. Robert Ferguson, who had dropped in to find Elizabeth--"perhaps you didn't know that my conservatory was a Pirates' Cave?" There was a sort of hesitant intimacy now between these two people, but it had never got so far as friendship. Mrs. Richie's retreating shyness was courteous, but never cordial; Robert Ferguson's somber egotism was kind, but never generous. Yet, owing no doubt to their two children, and to the fact that Mr. Ferguson was continually bringing things over from his garden borders, to transplant into hers--it improves the property, he told her briefly--owing to the children and the flowers, the landlord and the tenant saw each other rather frequently. On this especial afternoon, though Mr. Ferguson had found Elizabeth, he still lingered, perhaps to tell the story of some extraordinary thing Mrs. Maitland had done that day at the Works. "She's been the only man in the family since old John died," he ended; "and, judging from Blair, I guess she'll continue to be." "She is wonderful!" Mrs. Richie agreed; "but she's lovable, too, which is more important."