“What—what is it, Harry?” Nan asked, frightened at this strange performance, and regarding Harry in much the same dazed, sympathetic fashion as she had watched her little kitten endure the horrors of a fit the day before.
“Drop, drop, both of you!” was Harry's hoarse answer. “Don't you see? the Croxsons are coming.”
Oh! that was it, the Croxsons were coming! Regie and Nan quickly obeyed Harry's order.
“How many of 'em?” asked Nan, from her prostrate position.
“The whole five,” Harry answered, hopelessly; “but I don't believe they can see any of us, and if Sister Julia only does not hear them knock, and come down, they'll go away again and think no one's at home. Now, don't let's say a word.”
There was the patter of two pairs of little feet without, and the scuffle of three pairs of others, and then there came a vigorous knocking at the kitchen door, again repeated after an interval of a few moments. The children held their breath.
“Guess they're all out,” they heard Joe Croxson say, disconsolately.