Twaddles now heaved and tugged, trying to help Bobby lift the heavy umbrella rack. He was elated that he had thought of it, and not for 12 worlds would he have admitted that it was exceedingly heavy to lift.
“There!” said Bobby, when they had it finally in place. “How’s that for a house?”
“It’s perfectly–––” Meg began.
She meant to say “perfectly wonderful,” but just then Twaddles jumped down to the floor from the pile. In doing this he jarred the wonderful structure, and with a crash that could be heard all over the house, umbrella rack, stools, chairs and rugs slithered together in a complete wreck.
“Geraldine!” shrieked Dot. “She’ll be smashed and killed!”
“For the love of mercy, what are ye doing now?” The long-suffering but not always patient Norah stood in the doorway. “Bobby, what are ye up to the minute your mother turns her back? Is Dot hurt? What’s she crying for?”
Norah always asked a great many questions, and it was of no use, as the children had learned from experience, to try to answer her till she had had her say.
“What are ye trying to do?” asked Norah 13 again. “’Tis fine and peaceful the summer has been with ye all at Brookside. And now the minute you’re home again, the house must be torn down about our ears.”
“We were building a house, Norah,” explained Bobby. “We’re going to put everything back when we’re through. Oh, hush, Dot, Geraldine isn’t hurt.”
To prove it, Bobby crawled in under the wreckage and dragged out the smiling Geraldine apparently uninjured. But as Dot took the doll in her arms a dreadful thing happened.