Left alone, the boys looked at one another with amazement and with grief, and the leader, the touching tenor, said with true musical fervor, "Well, this is a go!"
In the meantime, the girls, with horror, had heard their aunt's invitation. What in the world did she mean? Was it a trick between her and Fairy? Had they hired the awful Slaughterers to bring this disgrace upon the parsonage? Sternly they faced her when she opened their door.
"Come down, girls—I invited them in. I'm going to make lemonade and serve my nice chocolates. Hurry down."
"You invited them in!" echoed Connie.
"The Slaughter-house Quartette," hissed Lark.
Then Aunt Grace whirled about and stared at them. "Mercy!" she whispered, remembering for the first time Fairy's words. "Mercy! Is it—that? I thought it was high-school boys and—mercy!"
"Mercy is good," said Carol grimly.
"You'll have to put them out," suggested Connie.
"I can't! How can I?—How did I know?—What on earth,—Oh, Carol whatever made you smile at them?" she wailed helplessly. "You know how men are when they are smiled at! The bishop—"
"You'll have to get them out before the bishop comes back," said Carol. "You must. And if any of you ever give this away to father or Fairy I'll—"