"I can't see why," came from Carl.

"Because it seems to me such a lawless proceeding. Do you know that there are people who say that no children were ever so lawless as American children to-day?"

"That is poetry, auntie; you made a beautiful rhyme," laughed Louise.

But her aunt refused to smile.

"It is not poetry, but sad fact, I'm afraid. You may not have done much actual harm, but you have shown no respect for other people's property. You went into the Brown house garden without leave, and you encouraged Ikey to carry off his grandmother's things without permission. I have trusted you all summer--I thought I could; but this makes me afraid that you ought to have someone with more experience to watch over you. You know when I came back to you two years ago I promised to stay so long as I could be a help to you, but--"

"Oh, Aunt Zelie! You do help us--don't go away!" cried Bess, clasping her around the waist; Louise seized one of her hands tightly in both her own, and Carl looked out the window with a flushed face.

"That is not fair, Aunt Zelie," was all he said.

He could never forget--nor could Bess--how she had come to them in their loneliness, and taken the motherless little flock into her arms, comforting them and wrapping them all about with her love and sympathy. How could they ever do without her?

"You aren't going away, are you?" Helen asked, leaving her dolls and coming to her side.

"I hope not, for I can't think what I should do without my children,"

she answered. And then they all snuggled around her on the old sofa and talked things over. It was astonishing what a difference it made--trying to look at the matter from all sides. Even Mrs. Ford's indignation did not seem so very unreasonable when you stopped to think how inconvenient it was to be without clothes-pins on Monday morning.

"I know it does not seem exactly right as you put it, Aunt Zelie,"

Carl acknowledged, "but it was such fun, we couldn't have had so good a time anywhere else."

"Suppose you found the Arnold children playing in our garden some day, would you think that because they had found that they couldn't have so good a time anywhere else, it was all right?"

"Why, auntie, those Arnold boys are not nice at all; we _couldn't_ have them in our garden," cried Louise.

"No one was living in the Brown house--it is different," Carl began.

"I know what she means," said Bess. "Just because it is fun isn't a good excuse."

"That is it," answered her aunt. "I believe in fun if only you do not put it first, above thought for the feelings or property of others. I am sure you did not mean to do wrong, but it would not do for me to let you go on being thoughtless, would it?"

"Mrs. Ford isn't a bit like you, Aunt Zelie; she was dreadfully mad at Ikey, and said he must stay in his room all day," remarked Louise.

"I am sorry for Mrs. Ford. I rather think _I_ should be dreadfully mad too, if I were in her place. She is an old lady and is used to having her household affairs move on smoothly, and one day she finds her servants upset and some of her property missing, all because certain naughty children cared more for a little fun than for her comfort."

Aunt Zelie spoke gravely, and her audience looked very much subdued.

In the course of the day Joanna, one of the maids, was sent over to the Brown house to inquire about the things left by the children in the garden. She returned with the missing articles, which had been carried into the house by the man who cut the gra.s.s.

"Did you see anybody, Jo? Are there any children?" were the questions she met with. But she had only seen a middle-aged woman who was cleaning the hall, and had learned nothing about the new occupants.

"It is very stupid of Joanna," said Carl as he rolled up the rug and the clothes-pins and marched over to apologize to Mrs. Ford for their share of the mischief. He did this so meekly and with such evident sincerity that the old lady was greatly mollified, and sent him up to tell Ikey he might consider himself released from the day's confinement in his room.

For the rest of the week the children were models of propriety. No one would have dreamed that they had been outlaws so short a time before.

From the star chamber windows Robin and his merry men looked down on the transformation which was taking place in their old domain.

The long gra.s.s was cut down, and with it those patches of pepper gra.s.s that had seasoned many a feast. The bushes and vines were trimmed, the walk was reddened, the shutters were thrown open. Every day added something to the change, yet, besides the servants, no one had been seen about the house.

Who could their new neighbors be? The subject was discussed morning, noon, and night, till their father said he would have to tell them the story of the man who made a fortune minding his own business. Uncle William, who was there at the time, said that probably the man was too stupid to enjoy his fortune after he made it, and he pretended to be willing to go over and inquire at the door, if Louise would go with him.

"At least we know there can't be any children," said Bess, "for they couldn't stay in the house all the time."

"Please tell us the story about the man, Father," asked little Helen, and couldn't understand why they all laughed.

CHAPTER III.

THE LADY OF THE BROWN HOUSE.

Bang! went the door, and away they rushed, like a small tornado, across the porch, down the walk and over the street.

They seemed to be running away from Helen, for a second after they had vanished behind Mrs. Ford's oleanders she came around the house.

Indignant tears were in her eyes; it was hard not to be wanted, to be thought too little to play with. Bess and Louise had such good times with the boys and she had nothing in the world to do this afternoon.

To be sure they had been very gracious all morning, and had even allowed her to listen to a thrilling chapter in the history of the Carletons, but this was too good to last.

At lunch certain signs pa.s.sed back and forth across the table arousing her curiosity, and afterwards when she found them laughing on the stairs and begged to know what they were going to do, Carl had replied provokingly, "What do you suppose?" and now they had run away with Ikey somewhere. The house was very quiet; Carie was taking her nap, Aunt Zelie dressing to go out. Helen sat down on the top step of the porch and wiped her eyes, saying to herself, "They are just as mean as anything, but I don't care--I'll have a good time too. I think I'll ask Aunt Zelie to let me go with her."

It happened that as the runaways reached the gate Aunt Marcia's coupe turned the corner, and her horrified eyes beheld their flight. When she stepped from her carriage her lips were firmly closed in a manner which indicated that they would be opened presently for somebody's benefit. She was so absorbed that she almost fell over the woebegone little figure on the step.

"You have been crying--what is the matter?" she demanded.

"Oh, Aunt Marcia, I didn't see you--please excuse me," said Helen, whose politeness rarely failed her, rising and putting away her handkerchief. Mrs. Hazeltine saw pretty clearly how matters stood.

"Never mind, my dear," she said; "perhaps you would like to take a drive with me. I am going out to Cousin John's."

Helen was her favorite among the children, because she was quiet and demure, and did not tear and soil her clothes as Bess and Louise did.

Helen on her part looked up to Aunt Marcia with deep admiration, and meant to be just like her when she was grown. So she ran off very happily to have her dress changed, while Mrs. Hazeltine waylaid Aunt Zelie as she came downstairs ready for a walk.

"Dear me! the children have been in mischief," was this lady's inward exclamation, for she knew the signs of disapproval, and felt like running away, as she used to do when a child, from Sister Marcia's lectures.

She only sat down on the bottom step, however, and waited.

"How do you do, Zelie? I see you are going out and I shall not detain you for more than a minute. Little Helen is coming to drive with me."

She seated herself in a judicial att.i.tude on one of the high-backed hall chairs.

"I do not wish to interfere," she continued, "But I should like to inquire if you know where the children are this afternoon?"

"I have a general idea," Aunt Zelie replied, slowly putting on her glove and reflecting that it would take more than her sister's powers to be able to say at any given moment exactly where they were.

"I thought you did not know. They are running through the streets, Louise without her hat. It may do for boys, but for little girls I think it disgraceful."