"Hark at Sheila Pat's accent! Whose benefit is it for?"
Molly looked out at the dingy scrap of garden.
"There's that little boy in the garden next door. Denis is chasing Sheila Pat."
They reappeared in the Stronghold, the Atom's wild little face emerging from beneath Denis's arm, her legs and arms kicking and struggling. Denis seized the tablecloth, hauled it off with a clatter of falling lesson books, drawing board, pencils, and paint-box. "Hang on, Nell! We'll toss her."
Miss Kezia, entering the room unnoticed, was surprised to find her youngest niece bouncing in the air.
"Aunt—Ke—" With a burst of terrified laughter Molly smothered the rest of the word.
Denis and Nell, holding the tablecloth, with Sheila Pat enthroned in its middle, turned innocently to their aunt.
"I came," said Miss Kezia, "to see if there had been any accident."
"Won't you sit down?" suggested Denis, with a wave of his disengaged hand toward a chair. "There's been no accident at all. What made you think there had?"
"The noise!" It was snapped out like the click of a box being shut.