Anthony and d**k converted a long box into a backrest and found a board dry enough for Gloria to sit on. Anthony dropped down beside her and with some effort d**k hoisted himself onto an apple-barrel near them.
“Tana went to sleep in the porch hammock,” he remarked. “We carried him in and left him next to the kitchen stove to dry. He was drenched to the skin.”
“That awful little man!” sighed Gloria.
“How do you do!” The voice, sonorous and funereal, had come from above, and they looked up startled to find that in some manner Maury had climbed to the roof of the shed, where he sat dangling his feet over the edge, outlined as a shadowy and fantastic gargoyle against the now brilliant sky.
“It must be for such occasions as this,” he began softly, his words having the effect of floating do
