“I never did hear any one in such a state before,” continued Mrs. Williams.  “So furious——­”

“Quite justly, of course,” said Mrs. Schofield.

“Of course.  And she said Penrod and Sam had enticed Roderick away from home—­usually he’s not allowed to go outside the yard except with his tutor or a servant—­and had told him to say that horrible creature was his aunt——­”

“How in the world do you suppose Sam and Penrod ever thought of such a thing as that!” exclaimed Mrs. Schofield.  “It must have been made up just for their ‘show.’  Della says there were just Streams going in and out all day.  Of course it wouldn’t have happened, but this was the day Margaret and I spend every month in the country with Aunt Sarah, and I didn’t dream——­”

“She said one thing I thought rather tactless,” interrupted Mrs. Williams.  “Of course we must allow for her being dreadfully excited and wrought up, but I do think it wasn’t quite delicate in her, and she’s usually the very soul of delicacy.  She said that Roderick had never been allowed to associate with—­common boys——­”

“Meaning Sam and Penrod,” said Mrs. Schofield.  “Yes, she said that to me, too.”

“She said that the most awful thing about it,” Mrs. Williams went on, “was that, though she’s going to prosecute the newspapers, many people would always believe the story, and——­”

“Yes, I imagine they will,” said Mrs. Schofield musingly.  “Of course you and I and everybody who really knows the Bitts and Magsworth families understand the perfect absurdity of it; but I suppose there are ever so many who’ll believe it, no matter what the Bittses and Magsworths say.”

“Hundreds and hundreds!” said Mrs. Williams.  “I’m afraid it will be a great come-down for them.”

“I’m afraid so,” said Mrs. Schofield gently.  “A very great one—­yes, a very, very great one.”

“Well,” observed Mrs. Williams, after a thoughtful pause, “there’s only one thing to be done, and I suppose it had better be done right away.”

She glanced toward the two gentlemen.

“Certainly,” Mr. Schofield agreed.  “But where are they?”

“Have you looked in the stable?” asked his wife.

“I searched it.  They’ve probably started for the far West.”

“Did you look in the sawdust-box?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Then that’s where they are.”

Thus, in the early twilight, the now historic stable was approached by two fathers charged to do the only thing to be done.  They entered the storeroom.

“Penrod!” said Mr. Schofield.

“Sam!” said Mr. Williams.

Nothing disturbed the twilight hush.

But by means of a ladder, brought from the carriage-house, Mr. Schofield mounted to the top of the sawdust-box.  He looked within, and discerned the dim outlines of three quiet figures, the third being that of a small dog.