Quite speechless, Tom slid off the bed, now a tearful sight in its dwindled proportions.
“I never heard of such badness,” Aunt Charlotte gasped, and leaning over the railing she called, “Jane—Jane! bring a whisk broom here.”
Jane came and the culprits were led into another room and brushed and shaken until they were thoroughly bewildered.
“I’d rather pick chickens and be done with it,” Jane remarked in disgust.
“Aunt Charlotte never said we mustn’t,” Marjorie sobbed.
“Well who would ever have thought of your doing a thing like this! Feathers all over the neighborhood!”
Caro giggled nervously.
“Oh yes, I’d laugh—it’s very funny. Just wait till your grandfather hears about it!”
Caro had a saucy reply on the end of her tongue, but the thought of grandpa, checked it. “Let your little candle remind you to be a pleasure and comfort to Aunt Charlotte while I am away,” he had said.
She had meant to be good, and she had been dreadfully naughty, the sight of the disordered room and the sorry looking mattress, and the feather-strewn lawn, was proof enough.