"Tish," she said, "that may be a Knowles's hen or it may be one belonging to this farm, I don't know, and I don't give a—I don't care. I'm going to get it."
"The barn's locked," said Tish.
"I could get in through a window."
I shall never forget Tish's look of scorn as she rose with dignity, and stalked toward the barn.
"I shall go myself, Aggie," she said, as she passed her. "You would probably fall in the rain barrel under the window. You're no climber. And you might as well eat those crusts you've hidden under the porch, if you're as hungry as you make out you are."
"Lizzie," Aggie hissed, when Tish was out of hearing, "what is in that barn?"
"It may be anything from a German spy to an aeroplane," I said. "But it's not your business or mine."
"You needn't be so dratted virtuous," Aggie observed, scooping a hole in the petunia bed and burying the crusts in it. "Whatever's on her mind is in that barn."
"Naturally," I observed. "While Tish is in it!"
Tish returned in a short time with one egg, which she placed on the porch floor without a word. But as she made no effort to give Aggie the house key, and as Aggie has never learned to
