"Damn the roses!"
"But it's me! The thorns!"
"Forget it."
Some of her raiment was clinging to Aunt Caroline's treasured plants as she stepped painfully out on the grass.
"Now to get into the house," he said briskly. "We'll have to break in. There isn't a soul home."
"Thank goodness," murmured Mary.
The house was dark, but never had Mary seen it when it looked so friendly and sheltering. The nightmare was over. They were really home!
Pete ran to the kitchen entrance. Locked, and undoubtedly the stout bar on the inside was also in place. It was not worth while to try the window-catches, for even if he were able to raise a sash there were stout steel bars through which they could not pass. He went to the cellar entrance, turned the knob in the door, and threw his weight against it. Nothing budged.
He stepped back on the lawn and made a survey of the rear elevation of the house. All of the windows that lacked bars were beyond his reach or that of any ordinary climber. If he could find a ladder—— He ran back to the stable, but discovered it to be as stoutly resistant to intrusion as the house itself.
Mary beckoned to him.