“Dodo do it,” remarked Paul, with the ancient privilege of the accusing man.  “Dodo want to make a doll.”

“Oo helped me,” came from the little girl.  “Oo helped!”

“But us put it back,” asserted Paul.

“Yes, but it came out, and sister and her friends were nearly drowned.  You were naughty children—­very naughty!”

“Oo dot any tandy?” demanded Dodo, fixing her big eyes on Grace.

“Candy!  Good land sakes, no!  Candy?  The idea!”

“We ’ikes tandy,” added Paul.

Then out came Mrs. Billette, startled at the sight of the dripping figures.

“Oh, did you fall in?” she asked, with a tragic gesture.

“No, we fell out,” said her daughter, laughing.  “It’s all right, momsey, but we must get dry.  Girls, give Will and Percy your orders.”

“Perhaps we had better telephone,” suggested Betty.

“Oh, yes!” chorused the others.

Soon the desired garments had been specified, and the boys promised to bring them in suitcases as soon as might be.  Then the drenched ones made themselves comfortable in Mollie’s home, and, while waiting, talked over the accident.

That it had not resulted more seriously was due to a combination of circumstances.

“For once Percy was really useful,” commented Amy, kindly.

“Yes, but we’ll never hear the last of it,” declared Grace.  “He’ll think we are his eternal debtors from now on.  Oh, here comes Will!  I’m so glad.”

Soon clothed, and if not exactly in their right minds, at least on the verge of getting there, the four came out to thank the boys, and there was more talk of the occurrence.

“I hope nothing like this happens when we set off on our tour,” said Amy.  “It won’t be so comfortable then to be drenched.”

“Don’t speak of it, my dear,” begged Betty.  The little happening—­not so little, either, when one considers the possibility—­had one good effect.  It had raised Amy out of the slough of despond into which she had unwittingly strayed, or been thrust.

I shall pass rapidly over the next few days, for nothing of moment happened.  I say nothing of moment, and yet there was, for the story of the mystery concerning Amy’s parentage became generally known, as might have been expected.

There were curious glances cast at Amy, and more than one indiscreet girl tried to draw her out about the matter.  This made it hard for Amy, and she was so upset about it that Mrs. Stonington kept her home from school for two days.

Then, chiefly by reason of the sensible attitude of Betty, Grace and Mollie, there came a more rational feeling, and it was agreed that the affair was not so uncommon after all.

The chums of Amy said nothing about the letter Alice had written.  That she had was very evident from her actions, for she was at first defiant, and then contrite, and several times it was seen that she had been crying.  But she said nothing, perhaps being too proud to admit her fault.