The lady glared first at Elizabeth and then at Betsy. “They are the identical children, I tell you,” she said, stepping out upon the porch. “What did they mean by trying to scare me,—a person of my years? I hate practical jokes and practical jokers.”
“We didn’t mean—” began Elizabeth timidly, “we didn’t want to scare anyone——”
“Then why did you do it?” snapped out the irate lady.
Elizabeth looked helplessly at Betsy, who hung her head and appeared very much crestfallen.
Grandpa Gil stretched out a kindly hand to Elizabeth. “Come here, my dear,” he said, “and tell us how it all happened. I can’t quite make out what the trouble is.”
Elizabeth went over to her old friend, who put his arm around her and drew her close. “Miss Darby was alarmed at somebody or something in the garden——”
“Indeed, I was,” interrupted Miss Darby, who sat rigidly near by. “It came near bringing on an attack. I had to go in and take some drops. Fortunately I never travel without them.”
“We had no idea it was anyone we didn’t know,” began Elizabeth. “We thought it was Ruth.”
“A pretty tale,” sniffed Miss Darby. “Much I look like Ruth.”
“We didn’t see who it was, for we covered our faces,”—Elizabeth turned to Mr. Gilmore with the explanation. “We were hiding behind the evergreen bush and when we heard footsteps we thought they were Ruth’s.”