The next afternoon, a warm Sunday, a strange thing happened. West House in full force filed out of the gate, along the road and in through the entrance to the Curtis place. The invitation had been delivered by Molly after church at noon, with Miss Matilda standing watchfully by and Miss Lydia beaming and nodding over her shoulder. It was a momentous event, for nothing of the sort had ever happened before in the history of West House. The boys had attired themselves in their Sunday best and were a very meek and well-behaving group as they mounted the porch and rang the bell. Spud pretended to be the victim of a vast and overwhelming terror and grasped Sandy’s arm convulsively when they heard the bell jangle inside.

“I would I were away,” he muttered. “Ah, woe is me!”

To their relief it was Molly herself, Molly in a stiffly starched muslin dress, who opened the door to them. They filed decorously in, deposited their hats and caps on the marble table in the hall and right-wheeled into the parlor. There they seated themselves in a circle about the room and felt very awkward and uncomfortable. Molly did her best to set her guests at ease, but the task was a difficult one. The assemblage was like her dress, very stiff and starchy. They discussed morning service, the weather, Spud’s new necktie and the pictures on the walls, and just when things did seem to be thawing out the least little bit there was the sound of footfalls on the stairs and instantly the guests froze into immobility.

Entered Miss Matilda followed by Miss Lydia. The guests arose as one man, painfully polite and serious. Miss Matilda motioned them back to their seats. Down they sat with a unanimity that suggested previous rehearsals. Miss Matilda announced that she was very glad to see them, and Sandy murmured—well, nobody ever knew what he murmured. But the tone was quite correct and the murmur served the purpose. Miss Lydia, plainly embarrassed, smoothed her black silk gown over her knees and smiled. Conversation proceeded by fits and starts. It went like a trolley car in a crowded street. Just when they thought it was nicely started, with a clear track ahead, it stopped with a bump. Then, after a dismal silence off it started once more with a jerk. Miss Matilda, Molly, Sandy and Spud were the principal conversationalists. Molly supplied subjects, Miss Matilda frowned them aside, Sandy rescued them and Spud babbled. Babbled is the only word for Spud’s efforts. He babbled of the weather and the dust in the streets and Mrs. Linn’s tonsilitis—a mild attack of no importance save as a subject for discourse—and finally of Molly’s tennis. The others looked on in evident and often open-mouthed admiration and awe. Strangely enough it was Spud’s last babble that cleared the conversational track for several blocks, so to speak.

“Well, I’m glad she’s doing nicely at it,” said Miss Matilda with a sniff, “though I don’t see why she wants to learn it. In my day young girls didn’t race around hitting rubber balls with snowshoes.”

“It’s—it’s a very pleasant game,” suggested Spud, vastly encouraged by his success, “and quite—er—popular nowadays, ma’am.”

“Popular! I dare say; most anything that’s silly enough is popular these days, it seems. When I was a girl sewing and embroidery, yes, and plain cooking, were popular.”

“Yes’m.”

“Well, I don’t say but what this tennis may be good for Molly. I guess most anything that will keep her nose out of books for awhile will be beneficial. And it’s very kind of you young gentlemen to teach her the game.”

“Not at all, Miss Curtis,” protested Sandy.

“I say it is,” responded Miss Matilda firmly. “Boys don’t usually like to have girls about them. I told Molly that when she first asked me to let her go over to your house. She said you were different.” Miss Matilda smiled briefly. “Maybe you are. My experience with boys makes me convinced that they’re all pretty much alike. I haven’t anything especial against them, though they most usually have dirty shoes—” Eight pair of feet crept under eight chairs—“and are noisy. And sometimes they don’t pay much attention to the eighth commandment.” Rapid glances were exchanged between her hearers. Dutch was plainly striving to recall which commandment was which. Miss Matilda arose in her majesty. “Come, Lydia,” she said. Miss Lydia obeyed, casting a final embarrassed smile over the circle. At the door Miss Matilda paused. “I hope you will come again,” she said quite graciously. “It will be very pleasant for my niece. We will be glad to see you any time so long as you behave yourselves.”

Exit Miss Matilda and Miss Lydia.

Spud drew a long breath that seemed to come from his shoes and glanced about him.

“Did anybody speak?” he inquired. Molly giggled softly. The footsteps of the Misses Curtis died away upstairs.

“I guess,” said Sandy, looking around for confirmation, “that we’ll have to be going back now.”

“Yes,” said Hoop and The Fungus in a breath.

“Oh, please!” exclaimed Molly. “Let’s go out to the shed. It’s dandy out there; and there are lots of apples.”

“Well—” began Sandy hesitatingly. But Molly had already jumped up and was leading the way. The boys seized their caps from the table and followed her down the steps and around the side of the house. At Molly’s command the sliding door was pushed back and a fervid aroma of apples met them.

“Now let’s bring some of those boxes over here by the door,” she said, “and sit down. Two of you can have the wheelbarrow.”

Presently they were all seated, Spud and Cal on an empty barrel which creaked ominously whenever they stirred, but not before Molly had led the way to the best apples and they had supplied themselves therewith.

“I’m awfully fond of apples,” she announced from her seat on a soap box by the door. “Aren’t you?” She addressed Sandy.

“Yes,” he answered, “and these are dandies; aren’t they, Ned?”

“Great,” Ned agreed with gusto. “I don’t believe we ever knew about these.”

There was a moment of deep silence. Then Molly threw back her head with a peal of laughter and the boys, looking silly and sheepish, finally joined in. So far the incident of the midnight adventure in the orchard had not been mentioned between them. But now Spud said:

“That was a great joke you played on us that night, Molly.”

“Were you awfully angry when Cal told you?” she asked.

“No. Only Sandy. He was sort of peeved.”

“I?” said Sandy in surprise. “Not at all.” He frowned at Spud, but that irrepressible young gentleman went on.

“I guess you didn’t know, Molly,” he said, “that Ned was appointed a committee of one to—”

“Shut up, Spud!” growled Ned.

“To get that pillow-case back. Ned’s our diplomat. Whenever he is extra nice to you you must be very careful. That’s his diplomacy. He’s after the pillow-case.”

“Oh, I’m not afraid,” answered Molly. “No one knows where it is, you see.”

“I do,” said Cal.

“Where?” asked Spud. But Molly gave a cry of alarm.

“Don’t tell him, Cal! Don’t you dare!”

“I guess it wouldn’t do him much good if I did,” said Cal. “He couldn’t get it.”

“N-no, I suppose not. Perhaps some day if you’re all just awfully nice to me I’ll give it back to you.”

“Tell us about it,” said Ned. “How did you fix yourself up that night?”

So Molly recounted her adventures, and by leaning forward they could see the rain-spout that she had clambered up and down by. Viewing it was, however, disastrous to Spud and Cal, for an empty barrel set on its side is at best an uncertain seat, and now when they both leaned forward the barrel “took it into its head,” as Spud explained, to lean backward, with a readily imagined result. When they had picked themselves up Ned tried to clap Spud’s pun.

“The barrel,” he said, “was merely trying to stave you off.”

“Hoop you choke,” responded Spud promptly.

After which scintillations Molly went on with her story.

“Of course,” said Sandy, when she had finished, “you have a perfect right to keep the pillow-case, Molly—”

“Right of capture,” interpolated The Fungus.

“But if your aunts ever found it and told Doctor Webster, we’d be in a bad mess. So don’t you think you’d better—er—better—”

“No, I don’t,” laughed Molly. “And you don’t need to worry, Sandy, one bit. It’s in a perfectly safe place, and locked up. And just as long as you’re nice to me, and do everything I want you to it will stay there!”

Spud groaned. “She has us in her power, fellows.”

“Yes, I have,” Molly exulted laughingly. “And I shall make you do anything I want!”

“Well, don’t want too much,” said Hoop.

“I hope,” inquired Spud concernedly, “that our friend Mr. Hooper is properly attentive, Molly? If he doesn’t do what you want him to let us know and we’ll kill him. And Clara, too. Is he quite satisfactory?”

“Clara is perfectly dear,” answered Molly. “And so is Hoop.” Hoop tried to look bored but was quite evidently pleased. “So you all are,” she concluded, beaming about her.

“We thank you,” said Ned, laying his hand on his waistcoat in the vicinity of his heart. “Any little thing we can do for you—”

“I shall never believe in you again, Ned,” said Molly sadly, “after what Spud told me. Whenever you say anything nice I shall think that you’re after my pillow-case.”

“In that case—” began Ned, but he was drowned by a chorus of groans. “I shall sneak another apple,” he finished.

“Sneak one for me, too,” said Hoop. “Where do these apples grow, Molly?” he asked carelessly. Molly made a face at him.

“I know but I sha’n’t tell you,” she answered. “If I did you might all come over here after some and get caught.”

“No, I was just thinking about next year,” Hoop assured her. “We never make more than one raid a year.”

“You will please,” Spud admonished Cal, “not throw your cores on the club house floor. Toss them out on the gravel. They look much better there.”

“Oh, let’s call this a club!” cried Molly eagerly.

“Right,” Ned agreed. “The Woodshed Club.”

“The Apple Club would be better,” suggested Clara.

“No; let me see.” Sandy frowned thoughtfully. “What kind of apples are these we’ve been eating, Molly?”

“Newtown Pippins,” answered Molly.

“There you have it, then; the Pippin Club!”

“Dandy,” said The Fungus. “We’re the Nine Pippins.”

“And we’ll meet here every Sunday afternoon,” cried Molly, clapping her hands. “And this shall be our club house.”

“Um,” observed Ned doubtfully. “Won’t it be a bit coolish in winter?”

“The house committee,” said Spud, “must look into the matter of heating the club house. Steam would do.”

“We ought to elect officers,” suggested Hoop. “I’ll be president.”

“You dry up. Molly’s president.” This from Sandy. “And I’ll be secretary. And Ned shall be—”

“This is a mighty funny election,” interrupted The Fungus. “What am I?”

“You’re a toadstool,” said Spud severely. “Sit down and subside. I move that Ned be elected something and that I be made treasurer.”

“There won’t be anything to treasure, Spud,” said Molly. “Except the apples.”

“Oh, we’ll have initiation fees and dues,” responded Spud cheerfully. “Pay up, please. I need the money.”

“Better let Ned be treasurer, then,” said Sandy. “He needs the money worse. He’s shy eight dollars.”

That aroused Molly’s curiosity and she had to be told of the mysterious disappearance of Ned’s money, first having been sworn to secrecy.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Ned!” said Molly. “And I don’t mind your being a—a diplomat now.”

“I’ve always heard,” remarked The Fungus, “that diplomacy was an expensive career.”

“I tell you what!” Molly beamed brightly across at Ned. “I’ll think about it tonight when I’m going to sleep and see if I can’t dream where it is, Ned.”

Spud made a gesture of triumph. “Ned, your money’s as good as found!” he declared.

“Well, you needn’t laugh,” Molly protested. “I have found things that way; once I know of. When I was a little girl I lost my doll and I felt just terribly about it. We hunted everywhere for her, mama and nurse and me. And I was so unhappy that I cried myself to sleep after nurse had gone. And in the night I dreamed that she was hidden under the oak chest in the hall!”

“The nurse?” Ned asked.

“No, my doll, stupid! And when I got up in the morning I went down and looked and there she was! Now, wasn’t that—remarkable?”

“It was. But you see, Molly, we haven’t any oak chest in our hall.”

“We might get one, though,” said Spud helpfully. Molly pouted.

“Oh, if you’re going to make fun of me—”

“We’re not,” protested Ned. “It’s a wonderful scheme. You go ahead and dream, Molly, and see what happens.”

“Maybe you’d better eat some mince pie or a welsh rarebit or something before you go to bed,” said Sandy, “so you’ll be sure to dream.”

“I always dream,” replied Molly. “Every night of my life. And some of them are just beautiful!”

“Wish mine were,” said Spud. “Mine are just awful. You and Cal ought to compare symptoms. Cal has a fine time dreaming, don’t you, Cal? Remember the night Ned lost his money you dreamed of thieves?”

“Really?” cried Molly. “Then it was thieves that took your money, Ned!”

“I guess it was—if the money was taken. I guess, though, that I just mislaid it.”

“Gee,” said The Fungus admiringly, “you talk of mislaying eight dollars as though it was eight cents! Wish I was rich like that.”

“I tell you what you do, Molly,” said Spud. “You dream about sixteen dollars instead of eight, and then when Ned finds it you and I’ll divide the other eight!”

“Spud, you’re too silly for anything,” said Molly severely.

“He’s a boiled idiot,” Sandy agreed. “We’ve got to be going, fellows. We’ve had a very nice time, Molly.”

“Yes, thanks, and we’ll come again,” said The Fungus.

“Next Sunday, then,” Molly replied. “Don’t forget. The Pippin Club meets every Sunday afternoon.”

“In their club house on—on Apple Avenue,” added Spud. “I move a vote of thanks to the president for her hospitality. All in favor will signify by taking another apple. It is so moved. As treasurer I’ll take two.”

“A terrible thought strikes me,” said Dutch as they left the club house. “We’ll probably have apple-sauce for supper!”

A groan, loud, prolonged and dismal, arose on the afternoon air. Spud viewed the two pippins in his hands and shook his head over them.

“They don’t look as good as they did,” he muttered. “I guess I’ll put them back—in my pocket.”

They said good-bye to Molly at the steps and then ambled back to West House, munching as they went.