After Caro reached home she began to be afraid that Trolley would not come back and the thought made her rather unhappy, but just as the lunch bell rang he came trotting across the lawn. She was watching at the window and ran to open the door, giving him such a warm welcome that the president who saw it, remarked to Aunt Charlotte, “I don’t know what Caro would do without that cat.”

That very day Dr. Barrows left town on seminary business and was gone several weeks. Hard times had effected the seminary, an effort must be made to increase its funds, and this was the task the president had before him. In this way it happened that he heard nothing of the visit to Walter Grayson.

Caro missed him very much, for although she and Aunt Charlotte were beginning to understand each other, they would never be the intimate friends she and her grandfather were.

When Marjorie heard the story she exclaimed, “Why Caro! You had better not let Aunt Charlotte know; she’ll scold you like everything.”

Caro was puzzled. Her grandfather had said he was sorry for the Graysons and wished he could do something for them. She had thought of something—surely this couldn’t be wrong, and yet she felt Marjorie was probably right when she said Aunt Charlotte would not approve.

About this time the little girls began to have lessons together every morning, sitting in small chairs on either side of the cutting table in their aunt’s bedroom. They read from a small green volume called “Little Annie’s Third Book,” a favorite of Aunt Charlotte’s, from which she had taught the children of the family for the last forty years. Caro privately thought it rather silly, but accepted it because mamma had read in it when she was little.

Caro meant to try very hard while grandpa was away, to be a pleasure and not an annoyance to her aunt and Jane, so she might have a good report for him when he returned. During the first week she succeeded so well that Aunt Charlotte remarked to her sister-in-law, Marjorie’s mother, that she had never known two better children than those little girls.

Alas! it was not long before she was compelled to change her opinion.

One afternoon when the ground was damp and Marjorie had a cold, Miss Barrows told them they might play in the garret. It happened to be her reception day, and up there, she thought, with the door closed they might make all the noise they pleased without disturbing the elegant repose of her drawing room.

Little Tom who as usual was hanging around, was graciously invited in, and the three ran off in high spirits.

“I don’t think there is anything there they can possibly hurt,” Aunt Charlotte said to herself.

Now in this long, low room, near the front windows was an old four post bedstead, upon which was a large feather bed. It had not been in use for a long time, and Aunt Charlotte was planning to make some pillows out of it. Nothing could have offered a more alluring playground than this mountainous bed; to climb upon the cedar chest which stood near, and take a flying leap into the middle of it, was tremendous fun.

The excitement was growing when Marjorie made a discovery. “Caro!” she cried, “the feathers are coming out!”

Sure enough on one side of the mattress there was a long rip, and from it the feathers were beginning to fly.

“It is like a snowstorm,” exclaimed Caro, taking her turn at jumping.

“Goody, a snowstorm! Let’s pretend it’s snowing,” Marjorie cried, and Tom clapped his hands and danced with joy at the idea.

Such active exercise was heating, so they put up the windows and then the fun grew fast and furious. Around and around they went; up on the chest, over on the bed, down on the floor, screaming and laughing, while the feathers flew in all directions, and the bed grew smaller and smaller.

Trolley who looked in through the half open door to see what was going on, ran down stairs in disgust, and sitting on the bottom step of the last flight sneezed and sneezed till Miss Barrows who was entertaining Mrs. Rice in the parlor couldn’t help wondering aloud what was the matter with that cat!

“What charming children your little nieces are, Miss Barrows,” Mrs. Rice remarked as she rose to go.

Aunt Charlotte replied in gratified tones that they were nice children, then as she opened the door for her visitor, she exclaimed. “Can it be snowing?”

“Surely not; it is as mild as May,” said the visitor.

But certainly the air was full of something very like snow; both ladies were puzzled.

“Why Miss Barrows it is feathers!” Mrs. Rice cried, picking an unmistakable goose feather from her sleeve. “See!”

Aunt Charlotte stepped to the edge of the porch and looked up; yes, they came from the third story windows, accompanied by a sound of great merriment. Forgetting ceremony, she left her visitor without a word, and climbed the stairs as fast as her portly frame allowed.

What a scene met her eye! A scene of feathers and wild hilarity. Breathing was almost impossible and she quickly withdrew to the hall where, rapping sternly on the door, she called “Children! children! what does this mean?”

Presto! What a change! Three perspiring, befeathered children came suddenly to themselves and stared at one another in dismay.

“We’ll sweep them up and put them back, Aunt Charlotte,” said Caro.

“I told Caro there was a rip, and that the feathers would come out,” explained Marjorie in a tone of injured innocence.

Quite speechless, Tom slid off the bed, now a tearful sight in its dwindled proportions.

“I never heard of such badness,” Aunt Charlotte gasped, and leaning over the railing she called, “Jane—Jane! bring a whisk broom here.”

Jane came and the culprits were led into another room and brushed and shaken until they were thoroughly bewildered.

“I’d rather pick chickens and be done with it,” Jane remarked in disgust.

“Aunt Charlotte never said we mustn’t,” Marjorie sobbed.

“Well who would ever have thought of your doing a thing like this! Feathers all over the neighborhood!”

Caro giggled nervously.

“Oh yes, I’d laugh—it’s very funny. Just wait till your grandfather hears about it!”

Caro had a saucy reply on the end of her tongue, but the thought of grandpa, checked it. “Let your little candle remind you to be a pleasure and comfort to Aunt Charlotte while I am away,” he had said.

She had meant to be good, and she had been dreadfully naughty, the sight of the disordered room and the sorry looking mattress, and the feather-strewn lawn, was proof enough.

She listened meekly when, dismissing Tom, Aunt Charlotte took them into her room and to use her own words, gave them a talking to.

“What do you suppose Mrs. Rice thinks? Why our lawn might be a barnyard,—she actually thought it was snow!”

In spite of her repentance this made Caro smile, and her aunt shook her head solemnly, saying “I don’t know what to do with you Caroline; I am ashamed of you!”

“But I’m truly sorry Aunt Charlotte.”“If you are I don’t see why you laugh. Now I believe Marjorie is sorry,” and Miss Barrows looked with approval at that tearful maiden.

As if this were not disgrace enough for one household, Trolley after he had recovered from the feathers made his way into the kitchen and stole one of the birds the cook was preparing for supper.

Caro found him at dusk sitting in solemn majesty before the hall fire, quite as if nothing had happened.

“Trolley,” she said, getting down beside him on the rug, “do you know you have been naughty too?”

He rubbed his head against her hand in a manner that said as plainly as words, “Pet me.”

“Did you get a spanking, Trolley? I don’t know what Aunt Charlotte is going to do to me. You are so nice and soft; you are a great comfort.” As Caro made a pillow of him Trolley broke into a loud purr.

“I am sorry I was naughty—I just didn’t think a bit. It was such fun to see the feathers fly. I wanted to be good while grandpa was away, and now I’ve spoiled it. Oh dear, I wish mamma would come and take me home, I am so lonesome!”

Trolley didn’t understand how anyone could be unhappy before such a pleasant fire, with him for company, and he continued to purr loudly while Caro’s tears fell fast. His view of things prevailed after a while, and when Aunt Charlotte came down stairs she found the two curled up together on the rug, fast asleep.

The tear stains on Caro’s cheek softened her. Perhaps the child really felt more than she showed, and she decided she would not take away her candle that night as a punishment, as she had thought of doing. More than this she let her have peach preserves for supper.

The preserves went to Caro’s heart and made her more penitent than ever. “I’m truly going to be good after this, and I’ll help Jane pick up the feathers,” she said as she kissed her aunt good-night.