pretend to tell. But late in the afternoon a dreadful screaming was
heard, and when people rushed from all parts of the house to see what
was the matter, behold the nursery door was locked, and nobody could get
in. Aunt Izzie called through the keyhole to have it opened, but the
roars were so loud that it was long before she could get an answer. At
last Elsie, sobbing violently, explained that Dorry had locked the door,
and now the key wouldn't turn, and they couldn't open it. _Would_ they
have to stay there always, and starve?

"Of course you won't, you foolish child," exclaimed Aunt Izzie. "Dear,
dear, what on earth will come next? Stop crying, Elsie--do you hear me?
You shall all be got out in a few minutes."

And sure enough, the next thing came a rattling at the blinds, and there
was Alexander, the hired man, standing outside on a tall ladder and
nodding his head at the children. The little ones forgot their fright.
They flew to open the window, and frisked and jumped about Alexander as
he climbed in and unlocked the door. It struck them as being such a fine
thing to be let out in this way, that Dorry began to rather plume
himself for fastening them in.

But Aunt Izzie didn't take this view of the case. She scolded them well,
and declared they were troublesome children, who couldn't be trusted one
moment out of sight, and that she was more than half sorry she had
promised to go to the Lecture that evening. "How do I know," she
concluded, "that before I come home you won't have set the house on
fire, or killed somebody?"

"Oh, no we won't! no we won't!" whined the children, quite moved by this
frightful picture. But bless you--ten minutes afterward they had