“Who have struck the blow!” chimed in King. “I say, what was Joan burned up for, anyway? I ought to know, but I don’t.”
“Oh, read up your history afterward,” cried Marjorie, impatiently. “Here, now we’ll build the fire round her!”
With a dozen sofa-pillows, they built a very respectable fire, and by putting the red ones on tops anybody could imagine a blazing flame.
“Now, you must burn and shrivel up,” commanded Kitty, and to their intense delight Miss Larkin entered quite into the spirit of the game.
“Burn me not up!” she cried; “I but did my duty!”
“Duty, forsooth!” shouted King. “You rode a white horse——”
“To Banbury Cross,” supplemented Kitty, as her brother paused for breath.
At this, Joan of Arc giggled so hard, that she almost choked, and her humane captors loosed her bonds and set her free.
“You’re a brick, Larky,” said King; “why, even Mother can’t play our romping games as good as you do. You’ll have to have a reward!”
A tremendous wink at his sisters reminded them of the coming celebration, and they made warning faces at him, for King was apt to tell secrets unintentionally sometimes.