"All right, I'll catch you, King," and Marjorie made a dive for him.
He was wary, and just as she nearly touched him, he stooped and slid under the table. After him went Midget, and of course, scrambled under just as King dodged up on the other side.
Out came Marjorie, flying after King, who raced up the front stairs and down the back ones, landing in the kitchen with a wild shriek of, "Hide me, Ellen, she's after me!"
"Arrah, ye bletherin' childher!" cried Ellen, "ye're enough to set a saint crhazy wid yer rally poosin'! In there wid ye, now!"
The good-natured Irishwoman pushed King in a small cupboard, and stood with her back against the door.
"What'll ye have, Miss Marjorie?" she said, as Midget rushed in half a minute later.
"Where's King?" asked Marjorie, breathless and panting.
"Masther King, is it? I expict he's sthudyin' his schoolbooks like the little gintleman he is. Shkip out, now, Miss Marjorie, dear, I must be doin' me work."
"All right, Ellen, go on and do it. Go on now, why don't you? Why don't you, Ellen? Do you have to stand against that door to keep it shut?"
"Yes, Miss, the,—the lock is broke, sure."