“Lay the board back in its place,” said Ruth.  “It isn’t for us to meddle with any more.  Take the kittens away.”  Ruth had turned quite pale.

Going down to the barn with Stephen, presently, carrying the two kittens in her arms, while he had the mallet and wedge,—­

“Stephen,” said she, “I’m going to do something on my own responsibility.”

“I should think you had.”

“O, that was nothing.  I had to do that.  I had to make sure before I said anything.  But now,—­I’m going to ask Uncle and Aunt Roderick to come over.  They ought to be here, you know.”

“Why! don’t you suppose they will believe, now?”

“Stephen Holabird! you’re a bad boy!  No; of course it isn’t that.”  Ruth kept right on from the barn, across the field, into the “old place.”

Mrs. Roderick Holabird was out in the east piazza, watering her house plants, that stood in a row against the wall.  Her cats always had their milk, and her plants their water, before she had her own breakfast.  It was a good thing about Mrs. Roderick Holabird, and it was a good time to take her.

“Aunt Roderick,” said Ruth, coming up, “I want you and Uncle to come over right after breakfast; or before, if you like; if you please.”

It was rather sudden, but for the repeated “ifs.”

“You want!” said Mrs. Roderick in surprise.  “Who sent you?”

“Nobody.  Nobody knows but Stephen and me.  Something is going to happen.”  Ruth smiled, as one who has a pleasant astonishment in store.  She smiled right up out of her heart-faith in Aunt Roderick and everybody.

“On the whole, I guess you’d better come right off,—­to breakfast!” How boldly little Ruth took the responsibility!  Mr. and Mrs. Roderick had not been over to our house for at least two months.  It had seemed to happen so.  Father always went there to attend to the “business.”  The “papers” were all at grandfather’s.  All but this one, that the “gale” had taken care of.

Uncle Roderick, hearing the voices, came out into the piazza.

“We want you over at our house,” repeated Ruth.  “Right off, now; there’s something you ought to see about.”

“I don’t like mysteries,” said Mrs. Roderick, severely, covering her curiosity; “especially when children get them up.  And it’s no matter about the breakfast, either way.  We can walk across, I suppose, Mr. Holabird, and see what it is all about.  Kittens, I dare say.”

“Yes,” said Ruth, laughing out; “it is kittens, partly.  Or was.”

So we saw them, from mother’s room window, all coming along down the side-hill path together.

We always went out at the front door to look at the morning.  Arctura had set the table, and baked the biscuits; we could breathe a little first breath of life, nowadays, that did not come out of the oven.

Father was in the door-way.  Stephen stood, as if he had been put there, over the loose board, that we did not know was loose.