Oh, that artful Liddy! Uncle read "bed-time" in her countenance. It was his edict that half-past nine should be the hour; and the D's knew that their fate was sealed.
"Good-night, Uncle!" said Donald, kissing his uncle in good, hearty fashion.
"Good-night, Uncle!" said Dorothy, clinging to his neck just an instant longer than usual.
"Good-night, my blessings!" said Uncle George, reluctantly. And as he closed the library door behind them, Nero, shut up in Liddy's room, was barking furiously.
Two more orderly, well-behaved young persons never left an apartment. But I must tell the truth: when they were fairly in the hall, Donald started to go up stairs on the outside, holding on to the balusters, and Dorry ran to the front door, in spite of Liddy's remonstrances, with a frisky, "Oh, do let me have just one breath of fresh air!"
She came back instantly, rushed past Lydia, who was slowly puffing her way up the stairs, met Donald at the first landing (he had condescended by this time to leap over to the regulation side of the balusters), and whispered:
"Upon my sacred word, I saw him! He's out there standing at the front steps!"
"Uncle ought to know it!" exclaimed Donald, turning to run down again.
But he stopped on the next step, for Mr. George came out from the library, opened the front door, and disappeared.