"All right, but you mustn't make pretty suits."
"I couldn't, out of potato bags. They'll have to be plain—very plain."
"The first thing is to get this car into our barn, and write and tell Colonel Kent where it is. Then we'll get our black clothes, and then we'll shoot the dogs and bury 'em, and then we'll have the sacrifice, and then—"
"And then," repeated Juliet.
"Then we'll have to go and tell 'em all what we've done, and offer to pay all the bills, and give 'em the price of the car besides for damages."
"Oh, Romie," cried Juliet, with a shudder, "we don't have to go and tell 'em, do we? We don't have to take strangers into our consciences, do we?"
"Certainly," replied Romeo, sternly. "Just because we don't want to do it is why we've got to. We've got to do hard things when we make a sacrifice. Lots of people think they're charitable if they give away their old clothes and things they don't want. It isn't charity to give away things you want to get rid of and it isn't a sacrifice to do things you don't mind doing. The harder it is and the more we don't want to do it, the better sacrifice."
His logic was convincing, but Juliet drooped visibly. The bent little figure on the blanket was pathetic, but the twins were not given to self-pity. As time went on, the conversation lagged. They had both had a hard day, from more than one standpoint, and it was not surprising that by midnight, the self-appointed sentries were sound asleep upon one blanket, with Romeo's coat for a pillow and the other blanket tucked around them.
The red lanterns burned faithfully until almost dawn, then smoked and went out, leaving an unpleasant odour that lasted until sunrise. The rumble of a distant cart woke them, and they sat up, shamefacedly rubbing their eyes.
"Oh," cried Juliet, conscience-stricken, "we went to sleep! We went to sleep on duty! How could we?"