“Come on, fellows!” he said. “We dast ride over to the Glen. I was lookin’ for you. Father said so.” And Stitchy threw himself on his back, and lifted and waved his heels. Already our liberators were swarming up the hay-rack, which had halted for them. In a twinkling they were sunk in that fragrance, kicking their heels even as their host. Already they had forgotten Mary Elizabeth and me, nor did they give us good-bye. We two turned and went through the Wells’s yard, back to the street. Almost at once we were again within range of the sounds of Delia, practising interminably on her “At Home.” “I never rode on a load of hay,” said Mary Elizabeth at length. Neither had I, though I almost always walked backward to watch one when it passed me. “What do you _s’pose_ the password was?” said Mary Elizabeth. It was days before we gave over wondering. And sometimes in later years I have caught myself speculating on that lost word. “I wonder what we were rescued from,” said Mary Elizabeth when we passed our woodshed door. We stopped and peered within. No Lord of Bindyliggs, though we had almost expected to see him stretched there, bound and helpless. What were we rescued from? _We should never know._ We rounded the corner by the side yard. There sat our staring dolls, drawn up about the tea-table, static all. As I looked at them I was seized and possessed by an unreasoning fury. And I laid hold on Irene Helena, and had her by the heels, and with all my strength I pounded her head against the trunk of the catalpa tree. Mary Elizabeth understood--when did she not understand? “Which one can I--which one can I?” she cried excitedly. “All of ’em!” I shouted, and one after another we picked up the Eleven by their skirts, and we threw them far and wide in the grass, and the penny dolls we hurled into the potato patch. Then Mary Elizabeth looked at me aghast. “Your dolls!” she said. “I don’t care!” I cried savagely. “I’ll never play ’em again. I hate ’em!” And I turned to Mary Elizabeth with new eyes. “Let’s go down town after supper,” I whispered. “I could,” she said, “but you won’t be let.” “I won’t ask,” I said. “I’ll go. When you get done, come on over.” I scorned to gather up the dolls. They were in the angle below the parlour windows, and no one saw them. As soon as supper was finished, I went to my room and put on my best shoes, which I was not allowed to wear for everyday. Then I tipped my birthday silver dollar out of my bank and tied it in the corner of my handkerchief. Down in the garden I waited for Mary Elizabeth. It was hardly dusk when she came. We had seen nothing of Delia, and we guessed that she was to stay in the house for the rest of the day as penance for having, without doubt, played “At Home” too badly. “You better not do it,” Mary Elizabeth whispered. “They might....” “Come on,” I said only. “Let’s try a June grass,” she begged. “If the seeds all come off in my teeth, we’ll go. But if they don’t--”