We gravitated together, after a series of whistlings, and all went to Aunt Mercy's in a crowd.
When we arrived at the house, Phaeton went up the steps first, and rang the bell. There was no immediate response, and while we were waiting for it, Ned and Monkey Roe, who had lagged behind a little, came up.
"Oh, pshaw!" said Ned, "don't fool around out here. Probably the girl's cooking something that she can't leave right away; but Aunty expects us—come in, boys," and he opened the door and led us into the hall.
"I ought to know the way around this house pretty well," he continued. "Here's the place to hang your caps," and he pointed out the hat-rack under the slope of the stairs.
With a soft, pattering noise, the eight caps almost instantly found lodgment on the pegs, some being thrown with great precision by the boys who were hindmost over the heads of the others.
"Now follow me, boys; I'll introduce you to Aunt Mercy; I'm perfectly at home here," said Ned, and throwing open the parlor door, he ushered us in there as unceremoniously as he had admitted us to the house.
The parlor was beautifully though not brilliantly lighted by an argand lamp. Aunt Mercy was sitting on the sofa, and beside her—"awful near together," as Ned expressed it—sat a tall gentleman, with a full beard and a sun-browned face.
"Why! What does this mean?" said Aunt Mercy, as soon as she could get her breath.
Ned was considerably abashed, and had fallen back so that he was almost merged in the crowd of boys now huddled near the door. But he mustered courage enough to say:
"We've come to tea."