"We ain' go' 'at stove-wood f' supper yit." Giggling reminiscently, the brothers disappeared leaving silence behind them in the carriage-house.

Penrod and Sam retired slowly into the shadowy interior, each glancing, now and then, with a preoccupied air, at the open, empty doorway where the late afternoon sunshine was growing ruddy.

At intervals one or the other scraped the floor reflectively with the side of his shoe.

Finally, still without either having made any effort at conversation, they went out into the yard and stood, continuing their silence.
"Well," said Sam, at last, "I guess it's time I better be gettin' home.
So long, Penrod!" "So long, Sam," said Penrod, feebly.
With a solemn gaze he watched his friend out of sight.

Then he went slowly into the house, and after an interval occupied in a unique manner, appeared in the library, holding a pair of brilliantly gleaming shoes in his hand.
Mr.Schofield, reading the evening paper, glanced frowningly over it at his offspring.
"Look, papa," said Penrod.