Before the grate stood the large trunk she had been packing. She had left it open, and now it was closed; but she was too agitated to notice the change.
“Quick, Kirke, this trunk is in the way. Help me move it out from the grate.”
Kirke laid hold of the handle nearest.
“What a heavy trunk, mamma! What makes”—
At that moment there was a stifled cry of “Mamma, mamma!”
Kirke jumped as if he had been shot, for the words seemed spoken directly in his ear.
“Donald’s in the trunk,” he roared, letting go the handle. “The little monkey is in the trunk!”
“He’s packed himself, Donny’s packed himself!” shouted Weezy, hopping about on one foot. “What an ever-so-queer baby!”
Molly flew to the trunk, but it was fastened.
“Oh, this lock! This hateful, hateful spring-lock. Where is the key?”