It was almost an hour before the excitement had sufficiently abated to permit thoughts of returning to bed, and then it was arranged that all four girls should pile into the room with the twin beds, while Mrs. Dunbar's room was thrown open between, by rolling back the folding doors.
Such chattering, such gabbing and such giggling! Naturally the night's experience was entitled to a thorough review, and it must be said the girls did the subject full justice.
Mary, however, was inclined to be taciturn. Every now and then her eyes would "shoot," as Grace called the queer expression, and when the lights were still on, and this peculiar look could be noticed, her friends made no apology for their good natured remonstrance.
"Here, now, Mary!" Grace would then call. "Don't you dare go off walking trees in your sleep again. This was a wonderful night, but—let's call it a day."
"One night of this kind is a regular week," Cleo added, "and I vote we make this very minute the end of a perfect day."
It really was "a lot of fun" to be all tucked into one room, and Mrs. Dunbar remained down stairs for a considerable time while the youngsters toned themselves down. Cleo made an opportunity to whisper to Madaline and Grace not to speak of the shot they had heard fired, but Mrs. Dunbar and her gardener were just then quietly discussing that phase of the affair.
"Michael, what was that shot, do you know?" she asked. "I did not want to mention it before the girls."
"Nor did I, madam," and the old gardener shifted uneasily. "Yes, I know what it was. They got—poor—Shep."
"You—can't—mean our lovely—Shep has been shot!"
"I wish I didn't, but we may be able to bring him around. He's not dead. They struck his thigh, and I was after him as quick as I heard his first whine. That is why I could not answer the telephone at once."