“Well, look at my case—–­” began Susan.

It was almost dark when the seven stormed the home kitchen, tired, chilly, happy, ravenous.  Here they found Mrs. Carroll, ready to serve the big pot-roast and the squares of yellow cornbread, and to have Betsey and Billy burn their fingers trying to get baked sweet potatoes out of the oven.  And here, straddling a kitchen chair, and noisily joyous as usual, was Peter Coleman.  Susan knew in a happy instant that he had gone to find her at her aunt’s, and had followed her here, and during the meal that followed, she was the maddest of all the mad crowd.  After dinner they had Josephine’s violin, and coaxed Betsey to recite, but more appreciated than either was Miss Brown’s rendition of selections from German and Italian opera, and her impersonation of an inexperienced servant from Erin’s green isle.  Mrs. Carroll laughed until the tears ran down her cheeks, as indeed they all did.

The evening ended with songs about the old piano, “Loch Lomond,” “Love’s Old Sweet Song,” and “Asthore.”  Then Susan and Peter and Billy must run for their hats and wraps.

“And Peter thinks there’s money in my window-washer!” said Mrs. Carroll, when they were all loitering in the doorway, while Betts hunted for the new time-table.

“Mother’s invention” was a standing joke with the young Carrolls, but their mother had a serene belief that some day something might be done with the little contrivance she had thought of some years ago, by which the largest of windows might be washed outside as easily as inside.  “I believe I really thought of it by seeing poor maids washing fifth-story windows by sitting on the sill and tipping out!” she confessed one day to Susan.  Now she had been deeply pleased by Peter’s casual interest in it.

“Peter says that there’s no reason—–­” she began.

“Oh, Mother!” Josephine laughed indulgently, as she stood with her arm about her mother’s waist, and her bright cheek against her mother’s shoulder, “you’ve not been taking Peter seriously!”

“Jo, when I ask you to take me seriously, it’ll be time for you to get so fresh!” said Peter neatly.

“Your mother is the Lady Edison of the Pacific Coast, and don’t you forget it!  I’m going to talk to some men at the shop about this thing—–­”

“Say, if you do, I’ll make some blue prints,” Billy volunteered.

“You’re on!” agreed Mr. Coleman.

“You wouldn’t want to market this yourself, Mrs. Carroll?”

“Well—­no, I don’t think so.  No, I’m sure I wouldn’t!  I’d rather sell it for a lump sum—–­”

“To be not less than three dollars,” laughed Phil.

“Less than three hundred, you mean!” said the interested Peter.

“Three hundred!” Mrs. Carroll exclaimed.  “Do you suppose so?”

“Why, I don’t know—­but I can find out”

The trio, running for their boat, left the little family rather excited, for the first time, over the window-cleaner.