"Their families would immediately remove them, for the revenue,"
Peter suggested. He was grinning at her; he felt suddenly the
wholesomeness and safety of her absurdity and originality. He
liked the characteristic earnestness with which, in the very act
of snapping off her bedroom light, before going out to the
sleeping-porch, she widened her eyes at him, and frowned in
concentrated thought.

"Then I'll give them fifty dollars a quarter!" she decided. "Just
enough to buy them some little things, you know, brass tea-
kettles, flannel underwear, whatever they wanted! Presents--they
must always want to be making Christmas presents." And she yawned
again. "Shut your door, Pete, if you read," she said. "The light
shines against the trees, and it's right in my eyes!" But ten
minutes later he heard her call through the door, "Or I could give
it on condition that they stayed in the home and didn't let their
families get it!" and grinned again over his book.

After that there was silence, and gradually the little sounds of
the summer night made themselves heard again. Alix's light was
out. Cherry came, trailing her thin wrapper, to the porch bed
opposite her sister's bed and slipped into it with only a brief
good-night. But Peter read on deep into the first hours of the
morning.

Kow Yu, flinging the striped blue tablecloth over the porch table
the next day at the noon hour, and clinking knives and forks, was
questioned by his master.

"You go catchem 'nother plate, Kow!" Peter said.