"Dick and Lizzie," added Henrietta.
"Their very ages," climaxed the general.
"It was only a bluff," said the Watermelon wearily. "I remembered their names and ages from books I had seen around the room last night and on the dresser, sort of birthday presents and things, you know. I never saw one of them."
The general roared and loved the boy. Henrietta leaned forward and patted him on the shoulder. "Wonderful, wonderful Holmes!" said she.
"Did you take the key on purpose?" asked Billy, all athrill with admiration.
The Watermelon flushed. He had taken the key if by any chance he should ever be in that neighborhood again, and the family away, he could spend the night in a comfortable bed instead of under a hayrick. Besides keys always came in handy. He didn't look at Billy. Like a sudden flash of lightning on a dark night, he had seen the difference between them, between what he had become and what he had been. But it came and was gone and the old careless indifference rushed back. He laughed and changed his seat to the one between the two girls.
"When I locked the front door, I slipped the key out without thinking, I suppose," said he. "Besides, keys are handy. When you are stony broke, you can rattle them and make the other fellow think maybe they're the mon."
"Now for breakfast," cried the general gaily, never long forgetful of his meals.
"Tell me," begged Henrietta, "what would father say?"
"Grace," said the Watermelon.