Old Woman. Key, is it? But it’s not mine. I picked it up not long ago at this very spot. No telling who dropped it; one can only guess.
Carol (eagerly). Perhaps that’s Dorothy’s key! (The children and Brownies crowd around to look.)
Old Woman (indifferently). Well, keep it and ask Dorothy, whoever she may be. I don’t know anything about it. Only persons in sight when I picked it up were an old curmudgeon dressed in gray,—the crossest-looking fellow you ever set eyes on,—and a queer-looking man with him dressed in red, for all the world like a circus clown. I couldn’t catch up with them, they were going so fast.
Avis (clapping her hands). It is, it is!
Roy. Hurrah!
Frank. Whoop! (The Brownies express their delight in the most fantastic capers yet. The Old Woman sets down the basket, looking interested.)
Carol. Hark! the Bells of Bonnydingle! (Ringing of bells, while all listen.)
(Enter Dismal Dumps and Bugaboo Man, talking excitedly. Bells stop ringing.)
Dismal Dumps (to Bugaboo Man). It was all your fault!
Bugaboo Man (fiercely). Don’t you dare to say it was my fault! I didn’t lose the key. You dropped it yourself!