And Ruth was sure, too, that the boy had not dropped to the ground. He was still on the roof.
"That was a tictac," Ruth told herself. She had heard Tom Cameron's too many times to mistake the sound. "And Amy was expecting it. Curly had told her what he was going to do. And now what will that reckless boy do, with his grandmother waiting for him and every other window in the house locked?"
"What are you doing there, Ruthie?" grumbled Ann. "O-o-oh! it's cold," and she drew her comforter up around her shoulders and the next moment she was asleep.
Helen never lay awake after her head touched the pillow, so Ruth did not look for any questioning on her chum's part. And Amy had already wept herself unhappily into dreamland.
"Poor kiddie!" thought Ruth, casting a commiserating glance again at Amy. "And now for this silly boy. If the girls knew what I was going to do they'd have a spasm, I expect," and she chuckled.
She leaned far out of the open window again, and, sitting on the window-sill, turned her body so as to look up the slant of the steep roof.
"Curly!" she called softly. No answer. "Curly Smith!" she raised her voice decisively. "If you don't come here I'll call your grandmother."
A figure appeared slowly from behind a chimney. Even at that distance Ruth could see the figure shiver.
"Wha—what do you want?" asked the boy, shakingly.
"Come here, you silly boy!" commanded Ruth. "Do you want to get your death of cold?"