"No, no," said Twiffle. "Leave the napkin there. Then you will be able to find us again. Remember now—just look for the napkin on the door and you'll know which is our room."
Lady Cue nodded and extracted a large, old-fashioned watch from the depths of her sewing basket. She squinted at it, and said, "You have just one-half hour to prepare for dinner. I will call for you and take you to the—the—oh yes, the dining room. That," she confided, "is where they are serving dinner tonight." With that the befuddled Lady Cue closed the door, only to find she was still in the room. So, she opened it, stepped outside, and then carefully closed it again.
Twink, Tom, and Twiffle, in spite of their troubles, burst out laughing. If anything went right with the play tonight they were sure it wouldn't be due to Lady Cue's efforts.
While Twiffle waited patiently, the children bathed, scrubbed their faces and hands, and reappeared much refreshed and quite ready for the dinner that had been promised them.
Twink was fascinated with the long rows of books on one side of the luxuriously furnished room, but she hardly had time to do more than glance at a few pictures, when there came a gentle rapping on their door.
Twiffle opened it. There stood Lady Cue. Her dress was on backwards and she had forgotten to do her hair. Solemnly she counted Twink, Tom, and Twiffle—one, two, three. "Is that right?" she asked them anxiously. "Were there just three of you? So often when I count I have something left over. This time it seems to come out even. That's very odd."