eyed after their long
naps. Priscilla was the first to come down, and she started at the sight
of the tawny body stretched upon the doorstep.

"Mercy, Peggy. What's that?"

"It's a dog, poor thing, and the thinnest beast I ever imagined."

"I hope you haven't been giving him anything to eat, Peggy."

The flush in Peggy's cheeks was undoubtedly due to the heat of a blazing
wood-fire. "I guess we won't miss a few dried-up sandwiches," she said
with spirit.

"Oh, it isn't that. It's only that if you feed him, we'll never get rid
of him. Doesn't he look dirty though, like a regular tramp?"

The other girls slipped down one by one, and if there were any truth in
the saying that many cooks spoil the broth, Peggy's anticipations for
the supper she had planned, would never have been realized. The meal was
almost ready to be put on the table, when Amy appeared, demanding
anxiously what she should do to help.

"We really don't need you a mite," Peggy assured, with a laugh. "But I'd
hate to disappoint such industry. Come here and stir this milk gravy so
it won't burn."

Amy moved to her post of duty without any unbecoming alacrity.

"I'm not industrious," she retorted. "And I don't want to be. I intend
to work when you girls make me and that's all. This is my vacation and
I'm going to use it recuperating."

"I really can't see the need myself," Claire whispered to Priscilla, but
Priscilla did not return her smile. Amy's plumpness was a joke which Amy
enjoyed as well as anybody, but Claire's covered whisper seemed to put
another face on it. Priscilla bent over a loaf of bread on the board and
sliced away with an impassive face.

"And that reminds me," continued Amy cheerfully, "that I feel like
re-naming this cottage for the season. Mrs. Leighton wouldn't care what
we called it."

"Why, I think Sweet Briar Cottage is a beautiful name," Claire
protested.

"I think so, too. But it's too dressy to suit my ideas. I'm sure I never
could live up to it. Say, girls, I move we call it Dolittle Cottage."

And, in spite of Claire's manifest disapproval, the motion was carried.

CHAPTER III

GETTING ACQUAINTED

The squawking of the yellow hen served as an alarm-clock for the late
sleepers in Dolittle Cottage the next morning. Peggy who was up, but was
loitering over her toilet, in a most un-Peggy-like fashion, scrambled
frantically into her clothes and went flying down-stairs. As she threw
open the kitchen door, a