THIEVES IN DEEPDALE
The door bell rang out its noisy summons.
Betty forestalled the maid on her way to the portal with a merry: "I'll go, Mary. It's probably one of the girls."
It was not one of the girls only, but all three of them, and seemingly in the wildest excitement.
"Oh, Betty, Betty!" Mollie cried, not even stopping to say "hello." "Have you heard the news—have you?"
"No, it's so early——" began Betty, but Grace interrupted her.
"But it isn't half as bad as what happened to us," she said, sinking into a porch chair and fanning herself violently, being overcome either by the heat or her emotions—possibly both. "Why! dad's running around the house like a mad man this morning, swearing all sorts of vengeance on the thief, whoever he or she is—I suppose it must be a he, though, because women don't steal——"
"Hold on, hold on a minute," commanded Betty, her hands over her ears. "How do you expect me to find out what has happened if you won't come to the point?"
"Well, I was going to tell you if you'd only have a little patience," Grace continued, in an injured voice. Here she paused to put into her mouth a chocolate cream, which she had taken from a little box she had brought with her. Then, seeing Amy about to speak, she went on hastily, holding the box out mutely toward her friends, who all shook their heads. "Here I rush all the way over and get all heated up and everything——"
"Oh, for goodness' sake, Grace!" Mollie broke in, having come to the end of her patience. "If you don't tell the story I will. You have been half an hour already getting nowhere."