“What are they talking about?” asked Christopher, pointing his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of his grandparents. “They look like they sometimes do when we’ve been up to something.”
“But we haven’t—not for a long time,” put in Jane defensively. “Not since the time you played hookey with Perk and drowned because you didn’t know how to swim.”
“I didn’t play hookey. Grandfather let me go.”
“He didn’t say you might go in swimming.”
“Well, he has since,” returned Christopher triumphantly, as if that settled the matter. “But something is up,” he added, returning to his subject. “Do you suppose they’ve found out about our putting that hard cider we found in the cellar into the pups’ milk?”
“It was only some left-over stuff, and it didn’t hurt the pups,” said Jane hurriedly, for the idea had been hers. “And it did make them act funny.”
They both laughed at the recollection.
“Well, then, maybe it’s the green stripes I painted on the pig the day we pretended he was a zebra in the circus. Grandfather said green paint was very poisonous. I’d have used brown paint if I could have found any; it would have been lots more lifelike. Anyhow it didn’t seem to hurt the pig any, although it did lick a lot off.”
“I know what it is they’re talking about,” replied Jane with an air of importance. “It’s not the pigs and it’s not the pups. It’s about Letty.”
“Letty! What has she been doing?” demanded Christopher in astonishment. He had looked upon Letty as so far above naughtiness as to be considered almost a goody-goody.