at Chips and Chips looked at Johnnie; for the exertions of
the day had served to make the thought of their white beds very inviting;
but Mr. Ford and the ladies talked on different subjects, and took no
notice of them. At last the evening air grew uncomfortably cool, and the
grown people rose to go in.

"Good-night, all," said Mrs. Wood, starting for home.

Chips watched her down to the gate. "Aren't you going to kiss me
good-night?" he called.

"Of course, if you want me to," she answered, turning back, "but you went
away this morning without kissing me, you know." Then she kissed him and
went away; and in all his eight years of life little Man Friday had never
felt so forlorn. Johnnie held up his lips sturdily to bid his father and
mother good-night.

"I think we are going to have a thunder-storm, unseasonable as it will be,"
remarked Mr. Ford pleasantly, standing in the doorway. "Well, I suppose you
won't mind it. Good luck to you, boys!" then the heavy front door closed.

Johnnie had never before realized what a clang it made when it was shut.
The key turned with a squeaking noise, a bolt was pushed with a solid thud;
all the windows came banging down, their locks were made fast, and Johnnie
and Chips felt literally, figuratively, and every other way left out in the
cold.

There was an uncomfortable silence for a minute; then Chips spoke.

"Your house is splendid and safe, isn't it, Johnnie?"

"Yes, it is."

"I wonder where we'd better lie down," pursued Chips. "I'm sleepy. Let's
play we're Crusoe and Friday now."

"Oh, we can't," responded Johnnie impatiently, "not with so many com--" he
was going to say comforts, but changed his mind.

The night was very dark, not a twinkling star peeped down at the children,
and the naked branches of the climbing roses rattled against the pillars to
which they were nailed, for the wind was rising.

The boys sat down on the steps and Chips edged closer to his companion. "I
think it was queer actions in my mother," he said, "to leave me here
without any shawl or pillow or anything."

A little chill crept over Johnnie's head from sleepiness and cold. "Our
mothers don't care what happens to us," he replied gloomily. The stillness
of the house and the growing lateness of the hour combined to make him feel
that if being wrecked was more uncomfortable than this, he could, after
all, be happy without it.

"What do you think?" broke in the shivering Man Friday. "Mamma says