"Dish pan!" Bella said from back in the crowd. "Kit, of course!"

Jim forced his way through then and turned on the lights. I have
no doubt I looked very strange, kneeling there on the bare floor,
with a row of pans mounted on bricks behind me, and the furniture
all piled on itself in a back corner.

"Kit! What in the world--!" Jim began, and stopped. He stared
from me to the pans, to the windows, to the bric-a-brac on the
mantel, and back to me.

I sat stonily silent. Why should I explain? Whenever I got into a
foolish position, and tried to explain, and tell how it happened,
and who was really to blame, they always brought it back to ME
somehow. So I sat there on the floor and let them stare. And
finally Lollie Mercer got her breath and said, "How perfectly
lovely; it's a charade!"

And Anne guessed "kitchen" at once. "Kit, you know, and the pans
and--all that," she said vaguely. At that they all took to
guessing! And I sat still, until Mr. Harbison saw the storm in my
eyes and came over to me.

"Have you hurt your ankle?" he said in an undertone. "Let me help
you up."

"I am not hurt," I said coldly, "and even if I were, it would be
unnecessary to trouble you."