The white object appeared to move a trifle, and it seemed large, even like a girl's form.

Cleo jumped from the window seat and touched the b.u.t.ton to shut off the light. At the same moment Grace and Madaline entered the room.

Both screamed as they encountered the darkness.

"Oh, Cleo, where are you?" begged Grace.

"She's gone, too!" wailed Madaline.

"Hush!" whispered Cleo, as soon as she could make herself heard.

"There's something white out in the tree!"

"Oh, where is Aunt Audrey?" Madaline pleaded, turning to run.

"Never mind," Grace a.s.sured her. "Whatever it is it can't get in here.

Let us help Cleo."

Cleo was now standing on the window ledge with her feet inside the room and her head and shoulders out in the darkness. Grace and Madaline got hold of her somehow, for her leaning position out of the high window seemed apt to overbalance her at the slightest move.

"It must be Mary!" Cleo whispered, "and in the tree. How ever can we get her?"

"How did she get there?" Grace asked, meaning the question to answer Cleo's.

"The limbs touch the piazza roof. But listen, girls, she may be asleep, and if we should wake her suddenly she would fall. You go tell Aunt Audrey while I stay and watch. No, Madaline, wait a moment, get me the flash light I laid on the dresser. You can see it from the hall light. Yes, that's it. Let me have it."

"What are you going to do?" Madaline asked under her breath, but with a show of alarm.

"I must see if that is Mary. If it is, she is in danger of falling if asleep; if awake she may jump. There, did you hear that! It was a shot--out by the front gate!"

"Oh!" shuddered Madaline. "Do come in, Cleo, they may shoot you."

"No, they can't see me, and I must go to the edge of the roof," and breathing her scout prayers for safety, Cleo climbed over the sill, and cautiously crept to the edge of the slanting roof.

All this time the figure in the tree remained stationary as a gray shadow, just blanching white as Cleo slowly turned her little flash light upon it.

"It is Mary!" she whispered to Madaline, back at the window. "Quick, get Aunt Audrey and the girls out under the tree! I can reach her!

Have them pull out the porch mattresses!"

Almost choked with excitement, Madaline managed to reach Mrs. Dunbar, repeat Cleo's orders, then hurry with her and Grace, who was now dragging Jennie along, down the stairs to the front door.

Mrs. Dunbar held her revolver in her right hand while Jennie unbolted the big heavy door.

"Let me go first!" Mrs. Dunbar ordered. "Jennie, flash the light ahead of us."

As the maid followed this order a small streak of light made a safe path out to the edge of the porch.

"There comes Michael," exclaimed Jennie, venturing out next, and no one could have misunderstood the note of relief in her voice.

Above them Cleo had climbed in the tree as quietly as the green limb, swaying under her light weight, permitted. Her flash light now was in the pocket of her pajamas, and as she mounted a strong branch and pulled herself nearer the tree trunk, she seemed scarcely more than some wild night bird seeking refuge.

She could now see Mary's face, and as it showed no expression of recognition she was confident the girl was sleeping. Crawling nearer with slow, sure moves, holding to small branches from overhead, and then balancing to the strong limb on which she sat and hitched herself along, Cleo paid no heed to the commotion under the tree.

She must first grasp the girl who sat so silently, her one arm wound around the light tree trunk, her head leaning against it in the most matter-of-fact att.i.tude, almost caressing the gray b.u.t.ton ball wood, while even in the dark those two dark braids of hair were tragically outlined against the white of her clinging night robe.

One more shift of her body and Cleo had her arm around Mary. With the other she held firmly to the tree.

"Quick!" she called now, realizing the mattresses were placed beneath them. "We may fall!"

As she spoke Mary shuddered, and gasped.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "Reda, I am here!"

"It is not Reda," Cleo answered in that droning voice she believed necessary to use.

"It is I, Cleo. Be careful. We are safe. Don't move!" for the one bare arm was relinquishing its hold on the tree. "Wait a minute. We can climb down. See, Michael has fetched a ladder."

Somehow realizing her strange predicament, the girl at once became obedient to Cleo's orders. She turned exactly as directed, made her way down the branches to the un.o.bstructed tree trunk, where she backed to the tall, strong ladder, placed securely against the bark by Michael.

Willing hands a.s.sisted her as she reached the lower rounds, then Cleo followed, descending so quickly she reached the ground almost as soon as did Mary.

It was a strange sight. All the girls in their pajamas. Grace had secured an extra green jersey sweater. Madaline was garbed in the lavender cape Cleo had discarded when she climbed through the window, while Mary stood like a statue, in her clinging white, with Cleo beside her, looking as if she had stepped out of a comic opera in her blue bird pajamas. But the audience was unresponsive.

Michael, the dignified, was too busy to notice costumes. Jennie had troubles of her own with her quickly arranged attire, and Mrs. Dunbar was far more concerned with the whole situation than to take any notice of its special, striking effect.

"Oh, what was it?" Mary murmured, rubbing her hand across her head as if in pain. "I thought Reda called. She said Grandie wanted me, and I hurried to her!"

"You likely did hear a call," said Mrs. Dunbar, "but it may have been our pet owl. Come, let us all get inside. Isn't it fortunate no one was hurt? Cleo, however did you get out on that tree without shocking Mary from her perch?"

But Cleo had observed she, of ail the group, was alone in a real pajama outfit, and consequently took herself off promptly to more secluded quarters, and was then not at hand to answer for her courage.

It was almost an hour before the excitement had sufficiently abated to permit thoughts of returning to bed, and then it was arranged that all four girls should pile into the room with the twin beds, while Mrs.

Dunbar's room was thrown open between, by rolling back the folding doors.

Such chattering, such gabbing and such giggling! Naturally the night's experience was ent.i.tled to a thorough review, and it must be said the girls did the subject full justice.

Mary, however, was inclined to be taciturn. Every now and then her eyes would "shoot," as Grace called the queer expression, and when the lights were still on, and this peculiar look could be noticed, her friends made no apology for their good natured remonstrance.

"Here, now, Mary!" Grace would then call. "Don't you dare go off walking trees in your sleep again. This was a wonderful night, but--let's call it a day."

"One night of this kind is a regular week," Cleo added, "and I vote we make this very minute the end of a perfect day."

It really was "a lot of fun" to be all tucked into one room, and Mrs.

Dunbar remained down stairs for a considerable time while the youngsters toned themselves down. Cleo made an opportunity to whisper to Madaline and Grace not to speak of the shot they had heard fired, but Mrs. Dunbar and her gardener were just then quietly discussing that phase of the affair.

"Michael, what was that shot, do you know?" she asked. "I did not want to mention it before the girls."

"Nor did I, madam," and the old gardener shifted uneasily. "Yes, I know what it was. They got--poor--Shep."

"You--can't--mean our lovely--Shep has been shot!"