"No, really," exclaimed Mary in astonishment. "I am sure Reda did not do that. She is dreadfully afraid of a revolver. Once when Grandie had one, as he thought someone was prowling about, he left it under his pillow, and Reda wouldn't touch it, and you would never imagine what a silly thing she did. She scooped it up on a dust-pan and dumped it in the bureau drawer. Can you imagine anyone doing that with a loaded revolver?"
"Oh, how absurd!" exclaimed Grace.
"It was lucky it was not self-cocked," declared Cleo.
"Well, I know Reda wouldn't touch a revolver, so no one I knew could have injured lovely Shep," said Mary, somewhat dismayed.
"But you remember, Mary, the man you called Janos was out from New York that day," suggested Madaline.
"Yes, I know," said Mary, "but I hope it was in no way my fault poor Shep was injured."
"Of course it was not," Cleo said quickly, seeing a possible unpleasant trend in their review. "It must have been someone who was just prowling around. You know, girls, all Jennie's lettuce was pulled up by the roots the night before Shep was shot."
At the mention of lettuce Mary flushed. Then recovering her composure, she remarked:
"Reda would pull up garden things. She couldn't seem to understand that growing things were private property. You see, in her country every sort of stuff grows so luxuriously Reda never could understand why it is different here. She was always searching for greens to cook for Grandie, and I was often afraid she would give him something poisonous," Mary said. "Poor Reda," she sighed. "I wonder where she is?"
"But, Mary," urged Cleo, "do you know actually that you climbed out the window in your nightie, and sat on a limb of the tree exactly like Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens? I shall never forget how cute you looked, even in lantern lights, as you hugged the button ball tree!" and at the joyous memory all the girls fairly rolled in glee. Grace slid off the improvised couch; Madaline doubled up on the steamer rug which was serving as an Oriental on the floor, and Cleo put her perky little head through such a course of exercises as would have done credit to a beauty specialist in neck treatment. It was so very funny a thing to remember. Mary perched in a tree à la Peter Pan, in her white night robe, Cleo climbing out after her in her bluebird pajamas, then the spectators around the base of the tree in various improvised garbs, not really passed by the censor. Yes, it was howlingly—shriekingly funny, just now!