It came into Mrs. Carr’s mind that “Rebbie’s” hair looked more like a plate of cold-slaw than anything else, but she was too wise to put the thought into words.
Willie slid down the railing and landed in the hall with a loud whoop of glee. “How beautiful to hear the sounds of childish mirth,” said Mrs. Holmes. “How——”
From upstairs came a cry of “Help! Help!”
Muffled though the voice was, it plainly issued from Uncle Israel’s room, and under the impression that the bath cabinet had finally set the house on fire, Mrs. Carr ran hastily upstairs, followed closely by Mrs. Holmes, who was flanked at the rear by the grinning Willie and the interested twins.
From a confused heap of bedding, Uncle Israel’s scarlet ankles waved frantically. “Help! Help!” he cried again, his voice being almost wholly deadened by the pillows, which had fallen on him after the collapse.
Dorothy helped the trembling old man to his feet. He took a copious draught from the pain-killer, then sat down on his trunk, much perturbed.
Investigation proved that the bed cord had been cut in a dozen places by some one working underneath, and that the entire structure had instantly caved in when Uncle Israel had crept up to the summit of his bed and lain down to take his afternoon nap. When questioned, Willie proudly admitted that he had done it.
“Go down and ask Mrs. Smithers for the clothes-line,” commanded Dorothy, sternly.
“I won’t,” said Willie, smartly, putting his hands in his pockets.
“You had better go yourself, Mrs. Carr,” suggested Mrs. Holmes. “Willie is tired. He has played hard all day and needs rest. He must not on any account over-exert himself, and, besides, I never allow any one else to send my children on errands. They obey me and me alone.”