"You might let me finish," protested Libbie. "I only meant to say this story was about a bride who ran away from her wedding guests for fun and hid in a great carved chest; the chest had a spring lock and it closed tight when she pulled it down. Her husband and all the guests hunted and hunted, and they never found her. Years and years after, when they opened the chest, there were only some bones and the wedding dress and veil."
"And you call that a lovely story!" Bobby's scorn was immeasurable. "Well, I think it's gruesome. And what kind of housecleaning did they have in those days? My mother opens every chest and trunk and box in the house at least twice a year."
The game started merrily, and, forewarned by Libbie's story, the girls knew exactly where to find her when she hid from them and unerringly pulled her out of every chest into which she hopefully squeezed her plump self.
"You never should have mentioned 'chest' to us," laughed Betty, when Libbie was "it" for the third time. "We know your line of reasoning now, you see."
Libbie good-naturedly began her counting, and Betty looked about for a good place to hide. The attic was long and wide and a splendid place to play. It was rather too well lighted for hide-and-seek, but the trunks and boxes arranged neatly around the walls offered a fair chance to escape detection. A peculiar fan-shaped box near a window attracted Betty's attention, apparently being a built-in box.
"I'll hide there," she resolved, running lightly over to it.
Louise and Esther and Bobby were already stowed away in various corners, and Betty slipped into the box noiselessly. Libbie ceased counting.
The three Littell girls reached "home" without being detected, and then perched merrily on an old trunk to watch Libbie prowl about after Betty. A five-minute search failed to reveal her, and Libby gave up.
"All safe, you may come in!" they called in unison.
No Betty appeared, and they shouted again.