So it was settled that Minerva, who had taken no part in the fatal celebration, should be spared, with her innocent babes.

“And in a few years more,” said Romeo, hopefully, “we’ll have lots more dogs, though probably not as many as we’ve got now.”

Juliet sighed heavily but was in honour bound to make no objections, for long ago, when they arbitrated the dog question, it was written in the covenant that no dogs should be imported or none killed, except by mutual consent.  And Minerva had five puppies, and if each of the five should follow the maternal example, and if each of those should do likewise—­Juliet fairly lost her head in a maze of mental arithmetic.

“We ought to go into deep mourning,” Romeo was saying.

“I’ve been thinking of that.  We should repent in sackcloth and ashes, only I don’t know what sackcloth is.”

“I guess it’s that rough brown stuff they make potato bags of.”

“Burlap?”

“Yes.  But we haven’t many ashes at this time of year and we’ll have still less if we live on mush and milk.”

“Maybe we could get ashes somewhere,” she said, thoughtfully.

“We’d have to, because it would take us over a year to get enough to repent in.”

“There’ll be ashes left from the automobile and the suits, and if you can get enough potato bags, I’ll fix ’em so we can wear ’em at the sacrifice and afterwards we can buy deep mourning.”

“All right, but you mustn’t make pretty suits.”

“I couldn’t, out of potato bags.  They’ll have to be plain—­very plain.”

“The first thing is to get this car into our barn, and write and tell Colonel Kent where it is.  Then we’ll get our black clothes, and then we’ll shoot the dogs and bury ’em, and then we’ll have the sacrifice, and then—­”

“And then,” repeated Juliet.

“Then we’ll have to go and tell ’em all what we’ve done, and offer to pay all the bills, and give ’em the price of the car besides for damages.”

“Oh, Romie,” cried Juliet, with a shudder, “we don’t have to go and tell ’em, do we?  We don’t have to take strangers into our consciences, do we?”

“Certainly,” replied Romeo, sternly.  “Just because we don’t want to do it is why we’ve got to.  We’ve got to do hard things when we make a sacrifice.  Lots of people think they’re charitable if they give away their old clothes and things they don’t want.  It isn’t charity to give away things you want to get rid of and it isn’t a sacrifice to do things you don’t mind doing.  The harder it is and the more we don’t want to do it, the better sacrifice.”

His logic was convincing, but Juliet drooped visibly.  The bent little figure on the blanket was pathetic, but the twins were not given to self-pity.  As time went on, the conversation lagged.  They had both had a hard day, from more than one standpoint, and it was not surprising that by midnight, the self-appointed sentries were sound asleep upon one blanket, with Romeo’s coat for a pillow and the other blanket tucked around them.