"Before daylight?" said Aunt Faith; "what time do you think it is now?"
"I suppose about four or five," said Tom.
"It isn't one yet," said Hugh laughing. "Come in and go to bed, you young brigand."
At first Tom objected, but the dogs had already taken advantage of the open door to depart, the candle burned dimly, and the air was damp. He yielded, and the underground shanty was left to its earthy seclusion.
CHAPTER III.
THE EDITOR'S SANCTUM.
"Justice has never been done to the month of months," said Hugh, coming in to the breakfast-table one morning, bringing a spray of roses with the dew shining on their fragrant petals. "I propose we celebrate the day, the fifteenth of June; the most perfect day of the most perfect month of this most perfect year of our lives. Who knows where we shall be before another June comes round? 'We have lived and loved together through many a changing year; we have shared each other's pleasures and wept each other's tears.' But tempus fugit, oh, how fast! and before we know it we shall all be old! Friends, fill your coffee-cups to the brim, and let us resolve to celebrate."
"A picnic!" said Gem.
"A torch-light procession and fireworks!" said Tom.
"A croquet-party!" said Sibyl.