“I wonder how they get these foolish notions into their heads?� said Mrs. Wilson. “Well, chickens, Ruth and I must be starting to Larkland.�
“Let Ruth spend the night with me, Cousin Agnes,� entreated Patsy.
Mrs. Wilson consented, and the three girls walked with her as far as the mill on her way to Larkland. Sweet William did not see them go, and he was surprised to find the house dark and deserted when he came running back, with Scalawag at his heels, for his sweater. He went, with a little feeling of awe, down the somber boxwood walk—it was now nearly dark—and it was a relief to hear Scalawag, who had run ahead of him, give a sharp bark.
“Cats-s! cats-s!� hissed Sweet William urgingly.
Scalawag ran to a rose arbor at the back of the garden, but his furious barking changed to a sudden yelp and whine; he ran back to his master.
“Old tabby cat must have scratched you,� said Sweet William. “Sic her! sic her, Scalawag!�
But the dog, bristling and growling, kept at his master’s heels, as if unwilling to encounter again whatever he had found in that dark, secluded place. Sweet William groped around for his sweater and ran home. Then he had his bath and went to bed. The older children followed soon, as behooved those who must be at Sunday school at half past nine o’clock and know a Psalm and the story of Gideon and be ready to answer seven new questions in the Shorter Catechism.
The next morning, when the Osbornes were at breakfast, Steve came running into the room, with a tragic face.
“Our gardens are ruined!� he cried.
“Oh, Steve! What do you mean?�