“We do want to dig,” put in Marjorie, “and we want to make window boxes, and we want to make them quick.”
“That goes,” said King, writing rapidly; “next?”
“We’re still crouching,” went on Kitty, “we really will be, you know—and we hope you’ll open the door right away, and say bless you, my children. And then we’ll fly on the wings of the wind to do your bidding.”
“A little highfalutin,” commented King, “but I guess it’ll do.”
They all signed the document, and then raced upstairs. Poking it under Miss Larkin’s door, they all crouched and waited.
Soon her voice came to them, through the keyhole.
“Are you all crouching there?” she said.
“Yes!” was the reply in concert.
“Well, I’ll forgive you, if you’ll promise not to tumble around so, and pull off hair-ribbons. It isn’t pretty manners, at all.”
“That’s so, Miss Larkin,” said honest King; “and I’m awful sorry. Come out—shed the light of your blue eyes upon us once more, and all will be forgiven.”