When Mr. Kloh had gone off to the mill--thrice returning from the gate
to kiss Dlorus and to thank her rescuers--Claire sat down and yawningly
lashed off every inch of Dlorus's fair white skin: "You're at it already; taking advantage of that good man's forgiveness,
and getting lofty with him, and rather admiring yourself as a
spectacular sinner. You are a lazy, ignorant, not very clean woman, and
if you succeed in making Mr. Kloh and Willy happy, it will be almost too
big a job for you. Now if I come back from Seattle and find you
misbehaving again----"
Dlorus broke down. "You won't, miss! And I will raise chickens, like he
wanted, honest I will!"
"Then you may let me have a room to take a nap in, and perhaps Mr.
Daggett could sleep in there on the sofa, and we'll get rested before we
start back."
Both Milt and Dlorus meekly followed the boss.
It was noon before Milt and Claire woke, and discovered that Dlorus had
prepared for them scrambled eggs and store celery, served on an almost
clean table-cloth. Mr. Kloh came home for lunch, and while Dlorus sat on
his lap in the living-room, and repeated that she had been a "bad,
naughty, 'ittle dirl--what did the fellows say at the mill?" Milt and
Claire sat dumpily on the back porch, regarding scenery which featured
of seven tin cans, a broken patent washing-machine, and a rheumatic pear
tree.
"I suppose we ought to start," groaned Claire.
"I have about as much nerve as a rabbit, and as much punch as a bale of
hay," Milt admitted.
"We're like two children that have been playing too long."
"But don't want to go home!"
"Quite! Though I don't think much of your idea of a playhouse--those tin
cans. But it's better than having to be grown-up."
In the midst of which chatter they realized that Mr. Henry B. Boltwood
and Dr. Hooker Beach had come round the corner of the house, and were
gaping at them.