"Can you give me that wicked little black bogy?" she called. Sheila Pat turned and trotted towards the house. Denis, on his wheelbarrow, eyed her inquiringly. "Where are you off to? Going to exercise the Snowy-Panted Pearl?" The Atom refused to acknowledge the question. She always did refuse when he miscalled her Pearl so rudely. Over the wall Nell accepted a limp Kate Kearney from the little shy, fair-haired boy she had accosted, and held a conversation with him. "Nell!" came a faint voice. "Nell! I’m caught! Oh, _Nell_!" "Someone is calling," observed Denis, from his barrow. Nell looked round. "It’s Molly. I thought she was here. Stewart, you hear that cry? It comes from the mouth of my sister Molly. She has a predilection for falling into slop-pails, jamming her fingers into doors— _Coming_!" she sang out in response to a louder cry. "Good-bye, Stewart. Another time you must see my littlest sister." She dropped to the ground. Up in Molly’s room she found wild confusion, and, in the midst of it, Molly hanging out of the wardrobe. "I’m caught, Nell! Oh, it’s killing me! You might have hurried—oh!" "Hair this time," observed Nell, untwining and pulling, while the house echoed with Molly’s screams. Her hair had caught in the hooks of a blouse hanging on one of the pegs. They were safety hooks, which were one of the trials of Molly’s life. When she was freed at last, Nell looked round the room littered with boots, hats, frocks, collars. "Whence?" she said, with a wave of her hand. "I was looking for my thimble." "Oh!" said Nell, expressively. "Nell," shouted Denis, from somewhere, "come up and look at these beastly grey collars!" She ran up to his room. The laundress was a grievance of his. She sat on his bed and sympathised; then she observed, "Denis, tell me what this Pennington is like." "Haven’t I told you? I’ll look a fine guy this evening in a dirty collar!" "’Not half a bad chap. See him mimic old Tellbridge, his uncle—simply ripping,’" mocked she, suggestively. He laughed. "Is that all I told you? Well, it’s his chief accomplishment. He’s a little chap—very dark. I say, I told you old Tellbridge apologised that his wife hadn’t called, because she’s abroad, didn’t I? He isn’t a bad old chap, only he’s got such a beastly pompous manner. Pennington calls him Uncle Pom-Pom. Well, he hasn’t got much of a bargain with me!" He gave a quick sigh. "I do loathe figures, Nell!" Then he laughed again. "Aunt Kezia has been talking to me about the hours she expects me to keep! ’Pon my word, I believe she thinks I’m not a day over eleven!" At ten o’clock he came meekly home. "Please, Aunt Kezia, I hope I’m not late?" "I told you ten o’clock. You are punctual." He went up to the Stronghold. He found Nell huddled over the account-book. "Well?" she said. "Where’s Molly?" "Just gone to bed." "What are you doing?" She laughed.