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A few minutes after six, Ann heard thick-shod small feet stumping into the bathroom; the splashing of water; and a confused murmur of voices. Then a man’s voice—a very gentle, pleasant voice—called:

“Hurry up, young ’ns. Don’t be all night—I want the bathroom.”

“Jo hasn’t washed her knees.”

“Pooh! Who’s going to take the trouble to look under the table at my knees? It’ll be dark soon, anyhow.”

More blurred discussion, and then:

“Come on, Dad—all clear.”

A moment or two later a whispering and a pushing sound outside Ann’s door announced the fact that the two little girls were there. Ann’s eyes twinkled. Curiosity, hampered by indecision, was so obviously expressed in those murmurs and shufflings.

She opened her door. “Were you coming in to see me?”

The two little girls almost fell into the room. They both looked at her with a fixed stare. Then Biddy turned to Jo.

“I’ve won,” she said.

“You didn’t say shingled,” objected Jo.

“No, but you said ‘scraggly hair parted in the middle and specs.’”

“Not parted in the middle.”

“‘A stuffy old thing like Miss Hildred,’ you said.”

“Not ‘stuffy,’—‘snuffy,’ I said.”

“Anyhow she isn’t.”

“Isn’t what?”

“Snuffy.”