"I don't b'lieve that is loud enough," whispered Allee. "You'd better pound."
"I think so myself," answered Peace, clutching the broom like a battering ram and giving the door three resounding thumps that shook the house from cellar to garret, and sounded like the booming of a cannon.
"Try it again," urged impatient Allee, and again the broom struck the panels with thunderous force, once, twice—
The door burst open with sudden fury, and an angry-faced man in a long bathrobe confronted the paralyzed children with the fierce demand, "What in creation do you want?"
"It—it's time to get up," stammered Peace. "I mean, it—it snowed last night. I mean, we've swep' your walks off. We s'posed you'd be glad to pay us for our trouble."
"Well!" ejaculated the man, too much surprised for further speech.
"We've swep' real clean—better than Hector ever does."
"Well!" repeated the Judge, an amused gleam in his eyes chasing away the angry frown. "How much do I owe you, Peace? You are Peace Greenfield, are you not?"
"Yes, sir. A quarter will do, I think. The snow was very light, but you've got lots of porch and walk."
"That's a fact, we have. Here is a quarter for you, and many thanks for your good work."