accompanied the cook to the cellar, with not a thought
in the world beyond butter. On a shelf in the storeroom stood
to-morrow's dessert--a row of fifteen lemon pies, with neatly decorated
tops of white meringue. As Patty looked at them, she was suddenly
assailed by a wicked temptation; she struggled with it for a moment of
sanity, but in the end she fell. While Nora's head was bent over the
butter tub, Patty opened the window and deftly plumped a pie through the
iron grating onto the ledge without. By the time Nora raised her head,
the window was shut again, and Patty was innocently translating the
label on a bottle of olive oil.

As they pulled their candy in a secluded corner of the kitchen, Patty
hilariously confided her plan to Conny and Priscilla. Conny was always
game for whatever mischief was afoot, but Priscilla sometimes needed
urging. She was--most inconveniently--beginning to develop a moral
nature, and the other two, who as yet were comfortably un-moral,
occasionally found her difficult to coerce.

Priscilla finally lent a grudging consent, while Conny enthusiastically
volunteered to acquire a monkey-wrench. Being captain of sports, she
could manage the matter better than Patty. On a flying visit to the
stables, ostensibly to consult with Martin as to a re-marking of the
tennis courts, she singled out from his tool bench the monkey-wrench of
her choice, casually covered it with her sweater, and safely bore it
away. She and Patty conveyed their booty by devious secret ways to
Paradise Alley. A great many alarms were given on the passage, a great
deal of muffled giggling ensued, but finally the monkey-wrench and the
pie--slightly damaged as to its meringue top, but still distinctly
recognizable as lemon--were safely cached under Patty's bed to await
their part in the night's adventure.

"Lights-out" as usual, rang at nine-thirty, but it rang to deaf ears. A
spirit of restless festivity was abroad. The little girls in the "Baby
Ward" larked about the halls in a pillow fight, until they were sternly
ordered to bed by the Dowager herself. It was close to ten o'clock when
the candy-pullers washed their sticky hands and turned upstairs.

Patty found a delegation of potato racers waiting with the news that she
had won the prize. An interested crowd gathered to watch her open the
box; it contained a tin funeral wreath that had been displayed that
winter in the window of the village undertaker--Kid had bought it