"I—I——"
"Come down here at once! And don't fall, for pity's sake," was Ruth's warning, as the boy's foot slipped. "My goodness! you haven't any shoes on—and no cap—and just that thin coat. Curly Smith! you'll be down sick after this."
"I'll be sick if Gran' catches me," admitted the boy. "She's layin' for me at my window."
"I know," said Ruth, as the boy crept closer.
"You telltale girls told her, of course," growled the boy.
"We did not. Ann and Helen don't know. Amy is scared, but she's gone to sleep. She wouldn't tell."
"How did Gran' know, then?" demanded Curly, coming closer.
Ruth told him. The boy was both ashamed of his predicament and frightened.
"How can I get in, Ruth? I'd like to sneak downstairs into the sitting room and lie down by the sitting room fire and get warm."
"You shall. Come in this way," commanded Ruth. "But, for pity's sake, don't fall!"