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For answer, Lily pointed to the empty baby-carriage. “Get right in,” she ordered.

Even in this dire extremity Johnny hesitated. “Can’t.”

“Yes, you can. It is extra large. Aunt Laura’s baby was a twin when he first came; now he’s just an ordinary baby, but his carriage is big enough for two. There’s plenty of room. Besides, you’re a very small boy, very small of your age, even if you do knock all the other boys down and have murdered your aunt. Get in. In a minute they will see you.”

There was in reality no time to lose. Johnny did get in. In spite of the provisions for twins, there was none too much room.

Lily covered him up with the fluffy pink-and-lace things, and scowled. “You hump up awfully,” she muttered. Then she reached beneath him and snatched out the pillow on which he lay, the baby’s little bed. She gave it a swift toss over the fringe of wayside bushes into a field. “Aunt Laura’s nice embroidered pillow,” said she. “Make yourself just as flat as you can, Johnny Trumbull.”

Johnny obeyed, but he was obliged to double himself up like a jack-knife. However, there was no sign of him visible when the two buggies drew up. There stood a pale and frightened little girl, with a baby-carriage canopied with rose and lace and heaped up with rosy and lacy coverlets, presumably sheltering a sleeping infant. Lily was a very keen little girl. She had sense enough not to run. The two men, at the sight of Aunt Janet prostrate in the road, leaped out of their buggies. The doctor’s horse stood still; the policeman’s trotted away, to Lily’s great relief. She could not imagine Johnny’s own father haling him away to state prison and the stern Arm of Justice. She stood the fire of bewildered questions in the best and safest fashion. She wept bitterly, and her tears were not assumed. Poor little Lily was all of a sudden crushed under the weight of facts. There was Aunt Janet, she had no doubt, killed by her own nephew, and she was hiding the guilty murderer. She had visions of state prison for herself. She watched fearfully while the two men bent over the prostrate woman, who very soon began to sputter and gasp and try to sit up.

“What on earth is the matter, Janet?” inquired Dr. Trumbull, who was paler than his sister-in-law. In fact, she was unable to look very pale on account of dust.

“Ow!” sputtered Aunt Janet, coughing violently, “get me up out of this dust, John. Ow!”

“What was the matter?”

“Yes, what has happened, madam?” demanded the chief of police, sternly.

“Nothing,” replied Aunt Janet, to Lily’s and Johnny’s amazement. “What do you think has happened? I fell down in all this nasty dust. Ow!”

“What did you eat for luncheon, Janet?” inquired Dr. Trumbull, as he assisted his sister-in-law to her feet.

“What I was a fool to eat,” replied Janet Trumbull, promptly. “Cucumber salad and lemon jelly with whipped cream.”

“Enough to make anybody have indigestion,” said Dr. Trumbull. “You have had one of these attacks before, too, Janet. You remember the time you ate strawberry shortcake and ice-cream?”

Janet nodded meekly. Then she coughed again. “Ow, this dust!” gasped she. “For goodness’ sake, John, get me home where I can get some water and take off these dusty clothes or I shall choke to death.”

“How does your stomach feel?” inquired Dr. Trumbull.

“Stomach is all right now, but I am just choking to death with the dust.” Janet turned sharply toward the policeman. “You have sense enough to keep still, I hope,” said she. “I don’t want the whole town ringing with my being such an idiot as to eat cucumbers and cream together and being found this way.” Janet looked like an animated creation of dust as she faced the chief of police.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, bowing and scraping one foot and raising more dust.