Dlorus broke down. "You won't, miss! And I will raise chickens, like he wanted, honest I will!"
"Then you may let me have a room to take a nap in, and perhaps Mr. Daggett could sleep in there on the sofa, and we'll get rested before we start back."
Both Milt and Dlorus meekly followed the boss.
It was noon before Milt and Claire woke, and discovered that Dlorus had prepared for them scrambled eggs and store celery, served on an almost clean table-cloth. Mr. Kloh came home for lunch, and while Dlorus sat on his lap in the living-room, and repeated that she had been a "bad, naughty, 'ittle dirl—what did the fellows say at the mill?" Milt and Claire sat dumpily on the back porch, regarding scenery which featured of seven tin cans, a broken patent washing-machine, and a rheumatic pear tree.
"I suppose we ought to start," groaned Claire.
"I have about as much nerve as a rabbit, and as much punch as a bale of hay," Milt admitted.
"We're like two children that have been playing too long."
"But don't want to go home!"
"Quite! Though I don't think much of your idea of a playhouse—those tin cans. But it's better than having to be grown-up."
In the midst of which chatter they realized that Mr. Henry B. Boltwood and Dr. Hooker Beach had come round the corner of the house, and were gaping at them.