"Yes," she admitted at length, "it is a little difficult. One can't even bury them in the garden in case they should damage the potatoes."
"There," I cried triumphantly—"they've floored you too!"
Elizabeth gathered together her pails and sponges and held out a hand to be helped up.
"Not at all," she said. "All you've got to do is to put them in a cardboard box and make them into a nice parcel, and I'll write a label."
"Now," she said, when she had finished attaching it, "let's take the dogs for a walk, just to the end of the road. This parcel contains things that are dangerous to the public welfare, doesn't it? Very well, then, I shall make sure that it's taken into safe custody by the nearest policeman."
"Look here, Elizabeth," I said firmly, "I'll have nothing to do with your silly ass tricks. If we draw blood from the police——"
"Oh, that'll be all right," she remarked cheerfully as we reached the end of the road. "We shan't wait to explain. Quick! There is a policeman coming! Here's the parcel. Put it down just at the bottom of the letter-box."
As I stooped with it, "He won't get hurt," said Elizabeth. "He'll open it too gingerly to cut himself. He'll think it's a bomb."
"Why?" said I.
And then first I saw the writing on the label. It said, Votes for Women.