ah. "We'll look at the old
tools--we won't hurt 'em."

She found she had reckoned without the canny Mr. Hildreth, when she
reached the tool house. It was securely locked and no amount of
tampering could make any impression on the stout padlock.

"Come on, we'll go up in the windmill," said Sarah, not to be balked.

She would have found it hard to explain what satisfaction disobeying
Mr. Hildreth and Warren gave her, when her anger was really directed
toward her brother. However, she may have reasoned that doing
something she knew was wrong was one sure way to plague Doctor Hugh.

Shirley obediently trotted after her sister to the graceful red
shingled tower that enclosed the iron framework of the windmill. Alas,
for once in his busy life, Mr. Hildreth had inspected the pump and left
the door unlocked. Sarah had merely to open it and fold it back and
the interior of the mill was revealed to her.

"We'll play it's a robbers' cave, Shirley," suggested Sarah. "It's
nice and dark."

She was minded to climb the enticing iron ladder, but fearful lest
Shirley develop an obstinate streak and refuse, she had decided to
begin with a milder amusement.

"I'll be the robber chief, Shirley," she went on--Sarah had a fondness
for such plays and her brother often said that she would have had a
wonderful time as a boy. "I'll be the robber chief," she repeated,
"and you drag in the loot."

"What's loot?" asked Shirley hopefully, having a vague idea that it was
something one ate.

"Loot is what we steal from the noble lords and ladies," Sarah asserted
with a faint memory of old firelight stories.

"But where do we get it?" the literal-minded Shirley demanded.

"Oh, we go out and hunt for it," said Sarah. "Don't let anybody see
you--remember we're robbers."

And she opened the windmill door cautiously and peered out.

There was no one in sight and the two little girls crept out and sped
to the nearest tree with a delicious sense of excitement. If they had
turned around and seen someone chasing them, they would not have been
surprised.

"Take a stone," said Sarah. "Take a stone for loot. A little one,
Shirley--that one by your foot."

Shirley picked it up and dropped it immediately with a little cry.

"Did you drop it on your foot?" asked Sarah.

"What's the matter?"

"Horrid, nasty little bugs under that," Shirley announced, pointing
with a dainty pink forefinger at the stone she had sent crashing back
to