and the mere fact of doing it was exciting. He stopped in the middle
and looked up and down the line while the girls tugged at him. It was
only when he saw a bit or two of shining metal which, according to his
arrow head game of the afternoon, he picked up and tucked away in the
pocket of his rompers, that his attention was once more turned to the
gathering of the wonders that seemed to be under his feet all the time
if only he looked for them hard enough.

The errand to the stationery shop was successful. The stationer said
that most pencils now were made with erasers built into them, but that
he thought he had a box of old tips left over. He hunted for them very
obligingly, and set so small a price on them that the Ethels took the
whole box so that they might have a liberal supply in case any were
lost off the arrow heads. Dicky put one in his pocket so that he could
place it on his arrow as soon as he got it into his hands once more,
and he begged the Ethels to go home by way of Rose House so that he
could fix it up that very night.

"Is it early enough?" asked Ethel Blue.

Ethel Brown thought it was.

"But we'll have to hurry," she warned; "there's an awfully black cloud
over there. It looks like a thunder storm."

They scampered as fast as their legs would carry them and reached the
farm in the increasing darkness, but before any rain had fallen. They
found all the bows and arrows standing in a trash basket which Roger
had made for the dining room.

"Mr. Roger stood them up in that so the children wouldn't be apt to
touch 'em," explained Moya.

Dicky sat down on the hearth and set to work on the arrow which he
recognized as his because of its greater length.

"You'll have to hurry or we'll get caught," warned his sister.

"We ought to start right off," urged Ethel Blue. "We'll have to run
for it even if we go now."

Mrs. Schuler brought in the cape of her storm coat.

"Take this for Dicky," she said. "If it does break before you get home
it will rain hard and his rompers won't be any protection at all."

"Put it on now, Dicky," commanded Ethel Brown. "Stand up."

Dicky rose reluctantly.

"Why do you fill up your pocket with such stuff," inquired Ethel
impatiently. "There, throw it into the fireplace--gravel, toadstools,
old brass," she catalogued contemptuously, and Dicky, swept on by her
eagerness, obediently cast his treasures among the soft pine boughs
that filled the wide, old fire