“Suppose we all clean up and go downtown to get some ice-cream. I’ll stand treat. Won’t you come, too, Mrs. Morton?”
“I don’t think I care to risk the walk in the sun. I fear it will take some time to make these children presentable.”
Dick pulled out his watch. “Perhaps they might meet me at the ice-cream parlor at four. I certainly need to freshen up myself.”
It was so arranged and there was a prompt scattering homeward to get ready. An hour later, shiny from much soap and water, and very stiff and starchy as to waists and dresses, they flocked around Dick Harding.
“I can eat two saucers of cream and three pieces of cake and I’m sure I can depend upon you boys to do as well. We’ll limit the ladies to one saucer and two pieces of cake because they are supposed to be delicate. Is that right, Chicken Little?”
Dick joked and the children stowed away the dainties industriously. In the midst of the feast an idea struck Gertie.
“What became of the baby mice?”
Sure enough what had become of them? Nobody seemed to know.
“I guess we just left them up on the chair in the bedroom,” said Ernest.
“They weren’t big enough to run away,” observed Carol.