coming, jumped
to avoid him, lost his footing, and slipped. He fell into the thickest
part of the mud, his foot doubled under him.

"Run, Meg!" shouted Bobby, who wisely decided that it was the better
part of valor to take advantage of Tim's plight. "Come, Philip, run!
run!"

Pell-mell, the stones clattering in the bag Bobby still clutched,
Philip racing ahead and barking like a mad dog, the two children ran
down the road and did not stop till they reached the broad band of
cement walk where the east boundaries of Oak Hill were drawn.

Then they stopped and looked back, Philip panting and growling a
little as if he only wanted a word to go back and repeat his good
work.

CHAPTER VII

A HARD LESSON

"My, I'll bet he's mad!" said Bobby. Tim was standing in the mud,
trying to scrape some of it off his clothes. His cap was gone and
great patches of mud clung to his face and hair. He was a distressed
looking object indeed. While they watched, he glanced up and saw them
standing there. He shook a fist at Bobby, and began to limp slowly off
down the road.

"Do you suppose he is hurt?" asked Meg anxiously. "Maybe he ought to
go to see Doctor Maynard."

"He isn't hurt," Bobby assured her confidently. "That mud is as soft
as--as anything! Wasn't Philip fine to think of scaring him like
that?"

Indeed, Philip had an extra good supper that night, after Bobby and
Meg had told Mother and Norah all about the help he had given them,
and the twins, when they came in from their drive, were filled with
admiration for such an intelligent dog.

"My practicing's all done," announced Meg happily. "I don't mind it so
much now, 'cause I want to be ready to play assembly marches when I'm
in the third grade."

"If you want to see how rabbit pens ought to look," Bobby told
Twaddles confidentially, "just go out and see those I fixed this
afternoon."

"Huh," sniffed Twaddles with withering indifference, "I guess the
rabbits don't know they're any better off!"

The first week of school went very smoothly, and both Bobby and Meg
began to look forward to their reports at the end of the month. These
reports were immensely important, according to Bobby, who was, of
course, experienced in such matters.

"If Bert Figger gets eight in spelling, his father's going to give him
fifty cents," Bobby told Meg.

"You'll get nine in 'rithmetic, I know you will," said Meg admiringly.
"You're awfully good in that, Bobby."

"Yes, I thi