"No; here's her hat," Polly began, but a little crow of a laugh interrupted her.
Looking up, Happie and Polly saw Penny's dusty head appearing over the edge of the wardrobe in her mother's room, Jeunesse Dorée beside it.
The step-ladder leaned against the wardrobe, explaining the ascent.
"Oh, Penny, what made you go up there in all that dust? We couldn't sweep it off to-day and I know it's dusty up there," said Margery. "Come down, dear."
"Dorée ranned up," said Penny, whose verbs were subject to eccentricities in their past tense. "I wanted to be up too, so I climbed. But I can't come down, not ever. You'll have to come up after me."
"I don't believe she can," sighed Happie. The space between the top of the wardrobe and the ceiling was so small that the child could not sit up, and it would have been impossible for her to slide down to the top step of the ladder without falling.
"I'll go up, Margery; let me go," said Happie, and mounted the step-ladder.
There was a loud report, the support broke on one side of the ladder, and down came poor Happie, "ladder and all," like Rock-a-bye Baby.
"Oh, Hapsie, dearest, are you hurt?" cried Margery, flying to her rescue.
"Well, I am—surprised," replied Happie, slowly rising. "I don't think I'm hurt beyond a few scratches, and my feelings."