The street lamp threw a band of light across the room.

Five minutes later, the blankets were taken from the bed and hung over
the door, that no ray of light from the room might be visible in the
hall, through either crack or keyhole.

A second blanket was pinned to the curtains, that neither coachman nor
maid returning from the town might catch a glimpse of light.

Then the fun began.

They had become bolder, and forgetting to whisper, talked in undertones.
Vera, mounted on a cushioned stool, was holding the can over the gas
jet, and watching eagerly for some sign of boiling.

"The milk is steaming," she announced. "S'pose it's done?"

"Not yet, goosie!" Elf replied, "and I _know_," she continued, "'cause I
remember hearing our cook say that the stew was ready when the oysters
looked all puckered around their edges."

"O gracious! If that's true, somebody'll have to come and hold this old
can a while. My arm is about broken!"

Betty seized the can, and mounted the stool, and Vera, thus relieved,
ran to the closet, returning with the cream-cakes and the fudge.

The white counterpane stripped from the bed, and spread upon the floor,
served as a lunch-cloth, and when the "goodies" were set upon it, the
big can in the center, steaming, if not boiling, the four sat