“The key?” asked Catherine. “O, the key to the library. How did you get it?”
“Algy give it to me. I Algy’s little help-boy,” smiled the cherub.
Catherine tried to take the key, but it refused to come.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. “It seems to be caught.”
Elsmere squirmed a little. “Tieded,” he murmured, and Catherine, bending closer to investigate, discovered that the key was so secured to the child’s apparel that sharp steel was necessary to sever the connection.
“Algy hasn’t too much confidence in his little help-boy, after all,” she thought. “Thank you, Elsmere. Now run along home like a good boy.”
“No, Elsmere go, too, like a good boy. I help.”
47Catherine sighed. The library was to be cleaned that morning as soon as the girls could be spared by their respective mothers. She had been waiting for Algernon to bring the key, and had counted on his muscular assistance in the labor before her. Now, instead, she had only the key, and that almost as hopelessly affixed to Elsmere as it had been before she cut it loose. She took up her bundle of rags, scrubbing-brush and soap resignedly, and calling “Good-by” to Dr. Helen started off down the hill. On the way she stopped for Agnes, who came out with a broom. Polly, bearing a pail, met them at the corner. At the library they found Bertha, mop-laden, pressing her nose against the pane to see inside.
“Hello!” she called to them. “How can we get hot water?”
“Let’s go over to Henderson’s and borrow a little oil stove for a few hours, and we’ll heat the water in this pail. One of you might go to the pump in the park and get it full now. Whose broom?” touching one, leaning by the window.