all quiet, with nobody in it. The furniture looks as though it were
having a good rest from us."

"Oh, listen to the frogs!" screamed Mark, out of the darkness where he
had run to join Touclé.

Elly and Paul sprang forward to join their little brother.

* * * * *

"What in the world are we going to see?" asked Marsh. "You forget you
haven't given us the least idea."

"You are going to see," Marise set herself to amuse them, "you're going
to see a rite of the worship of beauty which Ashley, Vermont, has
created out of its own inner consciousness."

She had succeeded in amusing at least one of them, for at this Mr. Marsh
gave her the not disagreeable shock of that singular, loud laugh of his.
It was in conversation like something-or-other in the orchestra . . . the
cymbals, that must be it . . . made you jump, and tingle with answering
vibrations.

"Ashleyians in the rôle of worshipers of beauty!" he cried, out of the
soft, moist, dense darkness about them.

"None so blind as those who won't see," she persisted. "Just because
they go to it in overalls and gingham aprons, instead of peplums and
sandals."