It was this thought which gradually quieted the palpitating hearts and the excited breathing of the three. After they had listened, more or less cowering on their beds, and heard no sounds of any general alarm, they finally prepared to retire for their first night at Cedar Ridge.
“After all,” said Terry, “it may have been some skylarking boys trying to steal the college apples.”
“Maybe,” agreed Sim.
“It didn’t sound like boys to me,” declared Arden. “It was more like a man’s shout.”
“Well, we don’t need to worry about it,” went on Terry. “But if those snobby sophs think we’re going in that orchard in the dark, after what we just heard, to get apples for them, they can have my resignation.”
“And mine!” echoed her chums.
Sleep was actually in prospect, and final yawns had been stifled when a scratching in one corner of the room aroused the tired girls.
“We must get a trap for those mice,” Terry sleepily murmured. “I suppose they smell the fruit-cake crumbs.”
“All very well to trap ’em,” chuckled Sim, “but who’s going to take ’em out of the trap after they’re caught or strangled to death?”
“Oh, stop!” pleaded Arden. “Let the poor mice have the crumbs. Maybe they need them.” Which seemed sound advice well given.