"I can see her glare!" declared Jane. "Dol's eyes were made for nobler tasks than matching hair shades."
"And mixing flesh tints," contributed Dozia, who just then managed to purloin a sample of the fudge.
"Are you girls sure that keyhole is sealed and the door still impregnable?" demanded Judith the narrator, with a sweeping glance about the room.
Winifred Ayres dropped to the door sill and spread herself across it while Dozia moved her chair to the jam in order to plank her shoulders over the keyhole.
"Air tight," announced Jane, "and every girl here is pledged, Judy.
You may proceed with absolute safety."
"The responsibility is yours, Jane, for we had an awful time for a brief interval under the doughty Dol's roof. Things flew—"
"Hair brushes and sponges?" prompted Janet, eager for sensation.
"Can't say as to the missiles," replied Judith, showing signs of relaxing into indifference, "but the way that black head yelled, and Sarah sobbed, and Shirley—I guess she shouted. I know her noise was next loudest to Sour Sandy's and that was some racket!"
"But what was it all about?" demanded Janet.
"About the precious box—jewelry or something valuable. When I saw the big boy take it from Tiny Tim and heard Tim yell, I knew there was mischief brewing if nothing worse, but I never expected to see Shirley Duncan jump into it. She aided and abetted the thief, for she caught that box on a fly and would have escaped if little Judy Stearns had not been right there Judy-on-the-spot."