"Oh!" she exclaimed, "Reda, I am here!"
"It is not Reda," Cleo answered in that droning voice she believed necessary to use.
"It is I, Cleo. Be careful. We are safe. Don't move!" for the one bare arm was relinquishing its hold on the tree. "Wait a minute. We can climb down. See, Michael has fetched a ladder."
Somehow realizing her strange predicament, the girl at once became obedient to Cleo's orders. She turned exactly as directed, made her way down the branches to the unobstructed tree trunk, where she backed to the tall, strong ladder, placed securely against the bark by Michael.
Willing hands assisted her as she reached the lower rounds, then Cleo followed, descending so quickly she reached the ground almost as soon as did Mary.
It was a strange sight. All the girls in their pajamas. Grace had secured an extra green jersey sweater. Madaline was garbed in the lavender cape Cleo had discarded when she climbed through the window, while Mary stood like a statue, in her clinging white, with Cleo beside her, looking as if she had stepped out of a comic opera in her blue bird pajamas. But the audience was unresponsive.
Michael, the dignified, was too busy to notice costumes. Jennie had troubles of her own with her quickly arranged attire, and Mrs. Dunbar was far more concerned with the whole situation than to take any notice of its special, striking effect.
"Oh, what was it?" Mary murmured, rubbing her hand across her head as if in pain. "I thought Reda called. She said Grandie wanted me, and I hurried to her!"
"You likely did hear a call," said Mrs. Dunbar, "but it may have been our pet owl. Come, let us all get inside. Isn't it fortunate no one was hurt? Cleo, however did you get out on that tree without shocking Mary from her perch?"
But Cleo had observed she, of ail the group, was alone in a real pajama outfit, and consequently took herself off promptly to more secluded quarters, and was then not at hand to answer for her courage.