By the time they had turned into the home street, Margery was beginning to recover, but she was still shivering and inclined to sob.  Other children followed them and it was quite an imposing group that turned in at the Marshall gate, just as Mrs. Marshall came to the door to bid a guest good-by.

The scene that followed was difficult for either Lydia or Kent to describe afterward.  There was a hullabaloo that brought half the mothers of the neighborhood into the yard.  The doctor was sent for.  Margery was put to bed and Kent and Lydia were mentioned as murderers, low-down brats and coarse little brutes by Mrs. Marshall, who ended by threatening them with the police.

Old Lizzie appeared on the scene in time to take Lydia’s part and Kent disappeared after Mrs. Marshall had told him that Margery’s father would be around to see his father that evening.

“Is the child dead?” demanded old Lizzie, holding Patience on one arm while Lydia clung to the other.

“She was able to walk upstairs,” said a neighbor.  “It’s just Mrs. Marshall’s way, you know.”

“I’ll way her,” snorted Lizzie.  “Fine thanks to Lydia for saving the child.  Come home with your old Liz, dearie, and get into the nice clean dress I’ve got for you.”

Lydia told the story to Amos at suppertime.  He was much disturbed.

“I’ve told you often and often, Lydia, never to endanger a child that can’t swim.  You and Kent should have had more sense.”

The quick tears sprang to the child’s eyes.  She was still much shaken.

“Is this lesson enough for you, or must I forbid your playing in the water?  I thought I could trust you absolutely.”

“Stop your scolding her, Amos Dudley,” exclaimed old Lizzie.  “I won’t have it.  She’s too nervous a child.”

Amos was saved a reply by a ring at the doorbell.  Lizzie let Margery’s father in.  He was a short, red-faced man with black hair and eyes.  He was too much excited now to stand on ceremony, and he followed Lizzie into the dining-room.

“This won’t do, Dudley.  These wild young ones of yours—­”

“Wait a minute, Marshall,” interrupted Amos, with a dignity that he had brought with him from New England.  “Margery is all right, so we can go over this thing calmly.  Sit down and listen to Lydia’s story.  Tell him, Lydia.”

Lydia left her place and crowded up against her father’s side.  Old Lizzie was holding the baby.

“It was like this,” Lydia began.  “Baby and me were going to play by ourselves under the willows.  Then Kent, he came and he played pirates with us.”

“Why wasn’t Kent out playing with the boys?” interrupted Marshall.

Lydia’s eyes widened.  “Why, I’m as good as a boy to play with, any day!  Mostly he does play with other boys, but when they aren’t round, he and I play pirates.  And then, right after we’d had our lunch, Margery she came along and Kent and I were mad—­”