"You go out into the field," began Marjorie, "and you gather heaps and heaps of pennyroyal,--you take baskets, you know, and gather just pecks of it. Then you take it home and you put it in pails or tubs or anything with a lot of water. And then you leave it about two days, and then you drain it off, and then it's pennyroyal extract."

Marjorie announced the last words with a triumphant air, but her hearers did not seem very much impressed.

"What then?" asked Molly, evidently awaiting something more startling.

"Why, then, you put it in bottles, and paste labels on, and take it all around and sell it to people. They love to have it, you know, for mosquitoes or burns or something, and they pay you quite a lot, and then you have the money for charity."

The artistic possibilities began to dawn upon Stella.

"Yes," she said, "and I could make lovely labels, with fancy letters; and you and Molly could paste them on, and we could tie the corks in with little blue ribbons, like perfumery bottles."

"And we'll each bring bottles," cried Molly, becoming interested; "we have lots at our house. Let's start out now to gather the pennyroyal.

We're not so awfully dressed up. This frock will wash, anyway."

"So will mine," said Marjorie, but she spoke with hesitation. She knew that Grandma would not like to have her wear that dainty fresh frock out into the fields.

But, for some reason, Stella, too, was inclined to go, and with the trio, two against one always carried the day; and linking arms, in half a minute the three were skipping away toward the field. They had not asked permission, because the fields were part of Mr. Martin's property, and Stella was practically on her own home ground, though at a good distance from the house.

Enthusiastic over their new plan, the girls worked with a will, and, having carelessly gone off without any basket, they found themselves obliged to hold up the skirts of their dresses to carry their harvest.

"I should think we had enough to sell to everybody in Morristown,"

declared Molly, as, tired and flushed, she surveyed the great heap she had piled into her dress skirt.

"So should I," agreed Midget, gathering up more and more of her pretty dimity, now, alas! rumpled and stained almost beyond recognition.

Stella had a good share, though not so much as the others, and she stood calmly inquiring what they were going to do with it.

"There's no use taking it to my house," she declared, "for mother would only tell me to throw it away,--I know she would."

"Wouldn't she let us make the extract?" asked Marjorie.

"She wouldn't care how much we made it, but she wouldn't let me make it at home, I know, because she hates a mess."

"I don't believe Grandma would like it either," said Marjorie, with a sudden conviction; "it is awful messy, and it smells pretty strong. But I'll tell you what, girls: let's take it all right to 'Breezy Inn.'

Then we can put it to soak right away. We can get water from the brook, and there are plenty of pails and things there to make the extract in."

"We can call it The Breezy Extract," said Stella; "that'll look pretty painted on the labels."

"Breezy Extract is silly," said Molly; "Breezy-Inn Extract is prettier."

"All right," said Stella, good-naturedly. "Come on, I'm in a hurry to begin. I'll paint the labels, while you girls make the stuff."

So they trudged across the field to Breezy Inn, dumped their heaps of pennyroyal into the dumb-waiter, and themselves scrambled gayly up the rope ladder.

Almost before Molly and Midge had pulled up their somewhat odorous burden, Stella had seated herself at the table to work at the labels.

The child was devoted to work of this sort, and was soon absorbed in designing artistic letters to adorn the bottles.

Midge and Molly worked away with a will. Unheeding their pretty summer frocks, and, indeed, there was little use now for care in that direction, they brought water from the brook, hauled it up the dumbwaiter, and filled several good-sized receptacles with steeping pennyroyal flowers.

Their work finished, they were anxious to start for home at once and begin a search for the bottles, but Stella begged them to stay a little longer until she should have finished the design she was making.

So Midge and Molly wandered out on the veranda, and amused themselves by jerking the rope ladder up and down. By a clever mechanical contrivance the ladder went up and down something on the principle of an automatic shade roller. It was great fun to roll it up and feel a certain security in the thought that n.o.body could get into "Breezy Inn"

unless they saw fit to let down the ladder. Not that anybody ever wanted to, but it was fun to think so, and, moreover, the rolling ladder was most useful in the playing of certain games, where an unlucky princess was imprisoned in a castle tower.

But somehow, as they were idly jerking the ladder up and down, an accident happened. Something snapped at the top, and with a little cracking sound, the whole ladder broke loose from its fastenings and fell to the ground.

"Oh, Midget!" cried Molly, aghast, "whatever shall we do now? We can't get down, and we'll have to stay here until somebody happens to come by this way."

"That may not be for several days," said Midget, cheerfully. "Carter never hardly comes down into this meadow. Pooh, Molly, we can get down some way."

"Yes; but how?" insisted Molly, who realized the situation more truly than Marjorie.

"Oh, I don't know," responded Midge, carelessly. "We might go down in the dumb-waiter."

"No; your uncle said, positively, we must never go down on that. It isn't strong enough to hold even one of us at a time."

"I guess I could jump."

"I guess you couldn't! You'd sprain your ankles and break your collar bones."

"Oh, pshaw, Molly, there must be some way down. Let's ask Stella. She can always think of something."

"No; don't tell Stella. She can't think of any way, and it would scare her to pieces. I tell you, Mops, there ISN'T any way down. It's too high to jump and we can't climb. We could climb UP the tree, but not DOWN."

At last Marjorie began to realize that they were in a difficulty. She looked all around the house, and there really was no way by which the girls could get down. They went into the living-room, where Stella sat at the table, drawing.

"I'm ready to go home," she said, looking up as they entered. "This is finished, and, anyway, it's getting so dark I can't see any more."

"Dark!" exclaimed Marjorie. "Why, it isn't five o'clock yet."

"I don't care what time it is," said Stella; "it's getting awfully dark, just the same."

And sure enough it was, and a few glances at the sky showed the reason.

What was undoubtedly a severe thunderstorm was rapidly approaching, and dark ma.s.ses of cloud began to roll over each other and pile up higher and higher toward the zenith.

"It's a thunder shower, that's what it is," declared Stella; "let's scramble down the ladder quick, and run for home. Let's all run to your house, Marjorie, it's nearer."

Midge and Molly looked at each other.

There was no help for it, so Marjorie said: "We can't go down the ladder, Stella, because it's broken down."

"What! Who broke it?"

"We did," said Molly; "that is, we were playing with it and somehow it broke itself. Of course, we didn't do it on purpose."

Stella's face turned white. "How shall we get down?" she said.

"We CAN'T get down," said Midge, cheerfully; "we'll have to stay up.