Part 14 (1/2)

She took both strings in her hand to look them over, and to the delight of the children she touched both of the charmed b.u.t.tons.

”Touch! Touch!” they cried, capering about like wild Indians. ”You touched the 'touch b.u.t.ton.' You owe us one now.”

”So I do,” said Mrs. Vane, laughing. ”I had forgotten all about 'touch b.u.t.tons.' I shall be more careful after this. You won't catch me again.

Now, Phil, there are your refreshments, so draw up to the table whenever you are ready. I must go look for b.u.t.tons to pay my debt!”

Mrs. Vane, still laughing, took the tray and went downstairs.

Susan and Phil found themselves ready for the refreshments and made haste to set the little table with the green-and-white china tea-set.

The dinner plates were quite large enough to hold the sponge cakes, and if the tea-cups seemed a trifle small, think how many more times the br.i.m.m.i.n.g pitcher of lemonade would go round.

Phil set out four plates instead of two.

”We will each ask one company to come to the table,” said he. ”I want the rocking-horse, he looks so thirsty, and your grandfather always stops to give Nero a drink when we go riding.”

And Phil dragged his steed over to the table, where he rocked back and forth for a moment b.u.mping his nose against the edge of the table each time. Indeed, with his open jaws and bright red nostrils, he looked as if a whole trough of lemonade would be needed to slake his thirst.

”I'll take the bunny because he has only one ear,” said tender-hearted Susan.

As she stooped to pick up the rabbit, she uttered a scream and sent poor bun flying half-way across the room. A small brown object, far more frightened than Susan, sped like a streak of lightning along the wall, and disappeared into the big closet where Phil kept his toys.

”What is it? What is it?” cried Phil, for Susan was jumping up and down with her hands over her ears.

”It's on me! It's on me!” cried Susan, shuddering and shaking. ”It's a mouse! It's a mouse!”

”It isn't on you,” said Phil. ”Don't cry, Susan. I saw him go in the closet. I'll fix him, you see.”

With a bravery worthy of a better cause Phil opened the closet door, struck one of his precious matches, threw it into the closet after the mouse, and firmly shut the door.

”There now,” said he. ”I fixed him.”

”What did you do?” quavered Susan, opening one eye. ”Are you sure he isn't on me? Look.”

”I killed him,” returned Phil briefly.

”How?”

”I burned him up,” answered Phil in a deep voice.

”Really?” said Susan, awed. ”But won't it set the house on fire?”

”No,” said Phil stoutly. ”It won't. I mean I don't think it will. Maybe we had better look and see. You look, Susan.”

On the floor of the closet stood an open Jack-in-the-box, and it was upon poor Jack's hat that the match had alighted. Jack had bushy white hair, and an equally bushy beard, and he was blazing merrily, grinning like a hero all the while, when Susan opened the door.

Susan's heart stood still. Oh, if Mrs. Vane were only there!