"Laddie!" exclaimed Prudence, and a moment after Grizzel appeared, running along and swinging her basket. "Am I late?" she asked breathlessly. "I didn't mean to be so long; I stopped to look at the shop windows." "Oh, Grizzel, where _have_ you been?" Prue said, catching her sister by the arm. "I have been so frightened. Come on quickly now, or we won't be ready, and _then_ there will be a hullabuloo and goodness knows what tomorrow." They hurried back to the house, and were met by an anxious Bridget with Baby in her arms. Bridget scolded, and Baby laughed, and they were all so busy "getting ready" that it was not till three white muslin frocks were spread primly over three green damask Victorian chairs that Prudence found time to ask: "How on earth did you get down from the tree?" "I just got down," Grizzel answered, looking mysterious, "I invented a secret way of getting down." "Nonsense," Prudence said rather crossly; "there can't be a secret way down." "Well, find out for yourself," Grizzel retorted, her face taking on an obstinate expression. "But how _did_ you?" Mollie asked, with an ingratiating smile. Grizzel shook her rebellious little red curls. "It's my secret," she repeated; "I won't tell." "When did you find out that the ladder was gone?" Prue asked, in a more amiable voice. "I just knew. It's part of the secret." "You'll have to tell Hugh," Prudence said firmly; "you can't have secret ways into other people's houses." "I won't tell anyone. It's my mysterious secret and I shall keep it." Prudence frowned and opened her mouth to speak again, but Mollie signed to her to be silent. Mollie was not a Patrol Leader for nothing; she had learned to be diplomatic, and now she turned the conversation: "Where are those parcels?" she asked. "The parcels! Goodness me, I forgot them! How _could_ I do such a thing!" Prudence exclaimed, jumping up from the green chair and rushing into the hall, followed by Mollie; Grizzel sat on in sulky dignity, trying to look uninterested. "Suppose Papa had come home and found we had not opened them, his feelings would have been dreadfully hurt," Prudence said with compunction. "It would have been murder outing. He always says murder will out." Grizzel's dignity could not survive the sight of the brown-paper packages, and the parcels were quickly undone and the wrappings and string tidied away--"the evidences of our folly", Prue said, as she bundled them out of sight. The contents were so charming that everybody forgot their little difference of opinion. There was a fine large kaleidoscope, the first she had ever seen, for Mollie; a charming musical box, with a long list of tunes printed inside the lid and a little gilt key to wind it up with, for Prudence; a Winsor and Newton paint-box for Grizzel; _Five Weeks in a Balloon_, by Jules Verne, for Hugh; and a Punchinello doll on a stick for Baby.