Florence buried her face in the pillows and covered up her head with the bed clothes; Bubbles crawled under the bed, then, as the rapping continued louder than before, interspersed with calls of "Hey, there! Hey, there!" Dimple, feeling very brave, opened the window and cried out, "Go away!" then she shut down the window with a slam, and sprang into the middle of the room with very red cheeks and a beating heart.
After a little time all was quiet, and the three timidly ventured downstairs to find the pie baked to such a crisp brownness, that it barely escaped being called black. It was set aside to cool, and after a short parley, the children set out to reconnoitre, armed with such weapons as they thought most useful. Bubbles carried an axe, Florence a bottle of ammonia, which she meant to throw in the face of the intruder "to take his breath away," she declared; and Dimple bore a long rope and a pair of large scissors. She intended, she said, to snip at the man if he came near her, and, when he was overpowered by Florence's ammonia, to bind him hand and foot with the rope.
But, after a long and thorough search, no one was found about the premises, and they all returned to the house to eat the "cobbler," which by this time was cool.
"It doesn't taste like Sylvy's," said Dimple. "I believe I forgot to put any salt in the crust, and where it isn't hard it is tough; there! I didn't put any water in it, of course there is scarcely any juice. I was going to save some for mamma, but I don't think I shall. We'll give it away to the first person we can," she continued to Florence.
This happened to be an organ grinder, who made his appearance at the gate. Bubbles was despatched with the message that they hadn't any money, but there was some pie, and the organ grinder departed, whether grateful or not, they did not learn.
"It seems to me it has been a pretty long day," said Dimple, as the afternoon wore on. "Five o'clock. Three hours before we can possibly expect mamma. I should think she would get dreadfully tired of housekeeping," she continued, remembering her discouraging pie. "I don't feel as if I wanted any supper, do you, Florence?"
"Not now," replied Florence; "but your mamma will want some."
"Oh, well, Bubbles can attend to it," decided Dimple. "I'm tired of seeing dishes and dabs. What shall we do next, Florence?"
"We haven't cleared up the porch yet. Mr. Star is out there and all the pieces."
"Sure enough. Well, we'll get those put away, and then we can dress. I wonder what became of the crazy man."