"I guess our mother'll be some mad, too," said Doris doubtfully; "that water spurted all over my leggins; an' now I guess it's freezing." The two walked slowly across the yard, ploughing through the rapidly congealing slush, which was the disappointing outcome of two hours of hard work. "I don't like Robbie Stanford one bit," said Doris disgustedly. "He's always getting us into mischief." "I said we ought not to get wet," Carroll reminded her eagerly. "Don't you remember I did? An' you said----" "I don't like you either," pursued the little girl stonily. "I don't b'lieve I like boys _a'tall_; so there!" "I'm all wet," she announced to her mother, "an' Carroll's wetter 'an I am; an'--we--we're--both--c-cold!" It was characteristic of Elizabeth that she thoroughly dried and warmed the children before asking any questions. Then despite their dismayed protests she put them both to bed. "You disobeyed me," she told them, "and now you'll have to stay in your beds till to-morrow morning. I'll explain to your father. Of course he'll be disappointed not to see you at dinner; but I can't help that." A period of depressing silence followed during which both children caught the distant sounds of passionate and prolonged crying from the neighbouring house. "It's Robbie," said Carroll in an awed whisper; "his mother's whipping him with that butter-paddle o' hers. She does that when he's awful bad." "I'd bite her!" murmured Doris between her clenched teeth. "I'd--I'd--scratch her!" She burst into excited tears. "I'd just--hate my mother if she--if she hurt me like that!" "Pooh! Rob don't care so very much," Carroll assured her; "he says he hollers jus' as loud as he can so his mother'll stop quicker. I s'pose," he continued after a thoughtful pause, "Robbie'll be up to dinner jus' the same, an' we'll be here eatin' bread and milk." XII Elizabeth's promised explanation to the father of the culprits above stairs led to a spirited discussion between the husband and wife, after Miss Tripp had retired to her apartment. "Poor little kids," Sam Brewster said whimsically. "I believe I'm glad I'm not your child, Betty,--I mean, of course, that I'm glad I'm your husband," he amended quickly, as her unsmiling eyes reproached him. "Don't you think you were a little hard on them, though?" "Hard on them?" she echoed indignantly. "You're much more severe with the children than I am, Sam,--when you're at home. You know you are."