The only question was:  In the process of making Curly over to fit her ideas of what a boy should be, was not Mrs. Smith running a grave chance of ruining the boy entirely?

And what boy, living in a house with four girls, could keep from trying to play tricks upon them?  If the shed-chamber had been a mile away over the roofs of the Smith house, Curly would have been tempted to creep over the shingles to one of the windows of the big front room, and——­

Nine o’clock at night.  All four of the girls quartered with Mrs. Smith were busy with their books—­even flaxen-haired Amy Gregg.  The rustle of turning leaves and a sigh of weariness now and then was all that had broken the silence for half an hour.

Outside, the wind moaned in the trees.  It was cold and the sky was overcast with the promise of a stormy morrow.  Suddenly Helen started and glanced hastily at the window behind her, where the shade was drawn.

“What’s that?” she whispered.

“Huh?” said Ann.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Ruth added.

Not a word from Amy Gregg, who likewise appeared to be deeply immersed in her book.

Another silence; then both Ruth and Helen jumped.  “I declare!  Is that a bird or a beast?” Helen demanded.

“What is it?” cried Ann, starting up.

“Somebody rapping on that window,” Ruth declared.

“This far up from the ground?  Nonsense!” exclaimed the bold Ann, and marched to the casement and ran up the shade.

They could see nothing.  There was no light in the roadway before the house.  Ann opened the window and leaned out.

“Nobody down there throwing up gravel, that’s sure,” she declared, drawing in her head again, and shutting the window.

Just as they returned to their books the scratching, squeaking noise broke out again.  This time Ruth ran to see.

“Nothing!” she confessed.

“What do you suppose it can be?” asked Helen nervously.  “I declare, I can’t study any more.  That gets on my nerves.”

Mrs. Smith put in her head at that moment.  “Of course you haven’t seen that boy, any of you?” she asked sharply.

The three older girls looked at each other; Amy Gregg continued to pore over her book.  No; Ruth, Helen and Ann could honestly tell Mrs. Smith that they had not seen Curly.

“Well, the young rascal has slipped out.  I went up to his door to take him some clothes I had mended, and he didn’t answer.  So I opened the door, and his bed hasn’t been touched, and he went up an hour ago.  He’s slipped out over the shed roof, for his window’s open; though I don’t see how he dared drop to the ground.  It’s twenty feet if it’s an inch,” Mrs. Smith said sternly.

“I shall wait up for him and catch him when he comes back.  I’ll learn him to go out nights without me knowin’ of it.”

She went away, stepping wrathfully.  “Goodness!  I’m sorry for that boy,” said Ann, beginning leisurely to prepare for bed.