Grubb had for once indulged in a family excursion.
Such was not the case, however. After luncheon, Marm Lisa had washed
the twins' hands and faces in the back-yard as usual, and left them
for an instant to get a towel from the kitchen. When she returned,
she looked blankly about, for there was no sign of the two dripping
faces and the uplifted streaming hands. They had a playful habit of
hiding from her, knowing that in no other way could they make her so
unhappy; so she stood still for some moments, calling them, at first
sharply, then piteously, but with no result. She ran to the front
gate; it was closed; the rope-fastening was out of reach, and plainly
too complicated even for their preternatural powers. She hurried
back to the house, and searched every room in a bewildered sort of
fashion, finding nothing. As she came out again, her eye caught
sight of a kitchen chair in the corner of the yard. They had climbed
the picket fence, then. Yes; Atlantic, while availing himself of its
unassuming aid, had left a clue in a fragment of his trousers. She
opened the gate, and ran breathlessly along the streets to that
Garden of Eden where joy had always hitherto awaited her. Some
instinct of fear or secrecy led her to go quietly through all the
rooms and search the playground without telling any one of her
trouble.
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