Cheaper by the Dozen

think he knows you saw him?"
    "I don't know, but I don't think so."
    "Come on, we'll peek out that dark window again," Anne said. "If he's still there, I've got an idea."
    He was still there, and Anne quickly rounded up Martha, Frank, Bill, and Lillian.
    "There's a peeping tom in the cherry tree," Anne explained. "One of Ernestine's. He needs to be taught a lesson. If he gets away with it and tells the other boys around school, our cherry trees are going to look like the bleachers at the Polo Grounds."
    "It would certainly play hob with the crop," Frank said. "Now not a word to Mother," Anne continued, "because she'll play her part better if she doesn't know what's going on. Ernestine, go back into your room and tease him along. Don't pull down your shades. Comb your hair, take off your shoes and socks. Even fiddle around with the buttons on your dress, if you want to. Anything to keep him interested. The rest of you, come with me."
    We went down into the cellar, where Anne took some wire and fastened a rag to the end of a stick. The rest of us loaded our arms with old newspapers, excelsior and packing boxes. Then outside Anne poured kerosene over the rag, lighted it, and led a torch parade from the cellar toward the cherry tree.
    Ern's sheik was so interested in what seemed about to transpire in her bedroom that he didn't notice us at first. But as the parade drew closer, he looked down. We formed a ring around the base of the tree, and one by one deposited our combustibles at the trunk. As the pile of refuse grew, Anne swung her torch closer and closer to it.
    "Christmas," the peeping tom shouted in terror. "Are you trying to burn me to the stake? Don't set fire to that. You'll roast me alive."
    "Precisely," said Anne. "Precisely what you deserve, too. If you know any prayers, start babbling them."
    "It was just a prank," he pleaded. "Just a boyish prank, that's all. Watch out for that torch. Let me come down. I'll go quietly."
    "Let you come down, nothing," said Martha. "You evil-minded thing you. Let you come down and spread the story all over town about how you climbed our cherry tree and put one over on the Gilbreth family? I should say not." Anne swung the torch nearer the pile of refuse.
    "Look out," the peeping tom shrieked. "You wouldn't roast me alive in cold blood, would you? By God, I believe you would!"
    "Of course we would," Frank said. "Dead men tell no tales."
    Ernestine stuck her head out of the window.
    "Have you got him trapped?" she called. "Good. I've been fiddling with the buttons on my dress so long I'm about to wear all the skin off the tips of my fingers. Is he who I think he is?"
    "None other," said Anne. "Motorcycle Mac himself, in the soon-to-be-seared flesh. Treed like a tree toad in a tree."
    "Don't cremate him until I get down there," Ernestine begged. "I want to see the fun."
    Motorcycle Mac was alternately whimpering and cursing when Ernestine joined the ring around the cherry tree.
    "I always thought he was a nasty boy anyway," Ernestine said. "Sheiks are hard to find, and goodness knows I don't have too many of them. But he's one I'll be glad to sacrifice."
    "I don't blame you," said Martha. "He's a particularly disagreeable one, all right. He's even a cry baby. I hope when it comes my time to cash in my chips I'll be able to go out with a trace of a smile on my beautiful lips, like Wally Reid."
    "Yes," said Anne. "I have the feeling that if anyone has to be cremated, it couldn't happen to a more objectionable sheik."
    We had counted on the commotion to attract Mother'sattention, and now she opened her window and put her head out.
    "What in the world's going on out there?" she called. "What are you doing with that torch? Which one of you is swinging it? That doesn't look safe to me, children."
    "I have it," Anne said. "It's all right, Mother. We've trapped a skunk up in the cherry tree, and we're trying to make him come down."
    Mother sniffed the air suspiciously.
    "I thought I smelled something," she said. "Now listen, children, I don't think you ought to burn up that cherry tree for any old skunk. Your father is devoted to that tree, and he's devoted to cherry pie. Just come on in the house, and let's see if the skunk won't come down and go away by itself."
    "Oh, we weren't really going to burn the tree," Ernestine giggled. "We just wanted to scare hell out of the skunk."
    "Ernestine, I forbid that kind of Eskimo language," Mother said, in a shocked tone. "Now I think you'd