“And now you may go,” said Mr. Carter smiling. “But there must be no more fighting. Another time I shall have to be more severe.”
“I didn’t even know he’d heard about the fire,” said Bobby, walking home that noon with Meg. “I guess everybody in Oak Hill knows about it; and Mr. Bennett probably goes around telling everyone we set fire to his shop. Oh, dear, I wish I’d never played football!”
But Bobby forgot his troubles when he and Meg reached home and found that Dot and Twaddles were planning to give a play that afternoon.
“You must hurry right home from school,” announced Dot importantly. “Mother is coming and so is Norah. The curtain raises at three.”
“You talk as if the curtain were Norah’s bread,” giggled Meg. “You should say the curtain ‘rises’ at three, Dot.”
“Huh, it doesn’t rise, either,” remarked Twaddles, who had come to the lunch table with his face streaked with dust. “It pulls apart!”
“How dirty your face is,” observed Bobby, big-brother fashion. “Where are you going to give this play, Twaddles?”
“Up garret,” answered Twaddles. “You pay six pins and you can come. And we have seats and everything.”
“I don’t know anything about it,” laughed Mother Blossom when Bobby asked her what kind of a play the young ones were planning. “Dot and Twaddles have done it all themselves; they have been working all morning and aside from considerable racket, I wouldn’t know there was to be a play. You and Meg will have to wait and see. And, Twaddles, my dear little son, how could you come to the table with such a dirty face?”
“That’s shadows,” said Twaddles comfortably. “Will you hurry, Meg?”