prolonged, ear-piercing roar.

Immediately a girl darted out of a room on the second floor of a pretty
brick house, colliding with a young man several years older, who came
forth at the same time from his own room across the hall.

"Great Scott, Meg, what are you doing only half-dressed at this hour of
the day?" he demanded with brotherly contempt.

"We will discuss my costume or lack of it later," she returned, holding
her short flannel dressing sacque together and laughing over her
shoulder where one long blond plait hung neatly braided, the rest of her
hair falling loose. "Methinks that was Horace Virgil Everett trying to
break up the furniture somewhere! Was there ever such an infant born
into this suffering world? I simply never turn my back without his
getting into fresh trouble."

While she was talking she was also running downstairs, followed in a
more leisurely manner by her brother. Both of them glanced into the
empty library and untidy dining-room as they passed and finally arrived
in a dark passageway at the end of the back stairs.

A small object lay on the floor with its arms and legs outspread,
showing not the slightest inclination to pick itself up, and on Meg's
bending over it the wails broke out afresh.

"Oh, do shut up, 'Bumps'," Jack Everett said good-naturedly. "You
haven't killed yourself and you're much too big for Meg to carry."

But the small boy clung desperately to his sister, his fat arms about