After a while Nell went upstairs. She listened outside the boot closet; all was still. A good deal surprised, she went into her room. Sheila Pat, in her petticoat, sat huddled up on a chair, scissors in hand, bending over the frock she had just taken off.
"What are you doing, Atom?"
She lifted a worried face.
"I'm just lengthing it," she said curtly.
"Oh, Kate Kearney, how did you get out of the boot cupboard?"
"I let her out," calmly. "I tried all the keys on the doors, and," triumphantly, "Sarah's fitted it!"
"Sheila Pat, I'm ashamed of you. My dear child, you're not unpicking the stitches at all—you're merely cutting little snips in the stuff. And, anyway, you're not to do it."
"I like this dress, but it's rikkleously short. I don't think it's perlite to wear them so short, Nell."
"Well, you'll have to be impolite then. Come along into the Stronghold, sweetheart. You're frozen."
"I did want to wear it to go and see that boy! Nell, wouldn't you just let down the hem?"