“Oh, no, I think it can hardly be the captain,” said Croly. “He was not down at the lake with us, and doubtless the invisible bugler was the ventriloquist, or the ventriloquist the bugler, whichever way you prefer to put it.”
“There! I dare say you are right,” she returned. “Now, Harold, it was you, wasn’t it? You may just as well own up first as last.”
“But really, Mary, I have nothing to own up to,” he said; “you are by no means on the right track.”
“Then who could it have been but you, Herbert?” she queried, turning laughing eyes upon him.
“I can truthfully aver that it was not I, Cousin Mary,” returned Herbert with grave earnestness, though there was a twinkle of fun in his eye that half convinced her he was in jest.
She wore a puzzled expression for a moment, then turning suddenly to Lulu, “I wonder now if it can have been you?” she said, giving the child a searching look.
“Oh, no, indeed, Miss Mary,” laughed Lulu. “I only wish I could say yes, for there’s nothing I’d like better than to be able to make such sport for myself and others.”
“But you know who it is?”
“Why do you think so, Miss Mary?”