“I suppose Elizabeth thinks one cannot have too much of a good thing,” remarked Dick, looking up from his book. “The longer she can make the word the better. Where were you ‘incartcerated,’ Elizabeth?”
“In the packing closet with the moth balls,” replied his sister. “It was an awfully stuffy place.”
“I should think so, and it is a wonder you were not asphyxiated,” returned Dick. “There is a good long word for you, Libzie.”
“Say it again,” begged Elizabeth.
Dick repeated the word and Elizabeth slowly said it after him. “Ass-fix-he-ate-ed. It would make a lovely charade, Dick.”
Her brother put back his head and roared. “I’ll bet you can’t spell it. I’ll give you a nickel if you can.”
Elizabeth made several attempts but failed in each one, so Dick finally had to tell her, and she carefully wrote it down on a piece of paper that she might puzzle Betsy when she should come, though at the same time she maintained that she still thought it would make a good charade. She was so intent upon planning this out that she entirely forgot about the condition of the attic and, as it was a bright, clear morning, she decided that if she could gather an audience and press Betsy into service they could act charades out of doors.
However, she failed in her errand, because Betsy had gone to town with her aunt Emily and any sort of play which demanded much imagination was not worth attempting without Betsy. Bess claimed her, however, always being rather pleased when, as second best, she could demand the privileges of first best.
So all day the old rocking-chair lay on its back while Elizabeth played with Bess. When night came Mrs. Hollins reminded Elizabeth of her shortcomings.
“Elizabeth,” she said, “you did not do as I told you about putting things in order up in the attic. I went up there to get something and came near hurting myself when I stumbled over the chair. You must go up there the very first thing tomorrow and don’t come down till you have put things where they belong.”