et Jimmie, whistling merrily. He was
glad to find Sunny Boy all right after his wetting, and asked him if he
did not want to come out to the stable to see Peter and Paul and "the
prettiest little fellows you ever saw." Sunny Boy went gladly, but the
queer little feeling went, too.

Peter and Paul, it seemed, lived in a house that was called a barn, and
were very comfortable. They had each a little room, "box stalls" Jimmie
called them, and all the hay they could eat. For breakfast and dinner and
supper they usually had corn and now and then some oats. The barn was a
delightful place, and Jimmie pointed out the hay mow when Sunny Boy
mentioned that Harriet had said that was the place to play on rainy
days.

"Not much hay in it now," announced Jimmie, leading the way into another
little room. "We start cutting this year's crop next week. Ever seen any
one hay?"

Sunny Boy had not, but he forgot to say so, because he found himself
looking down on a gentle-eyed collie dog mother with three of the dearest
little blind baby puppies you could wish to see. Jimmie explained that
Lassie was Mrs. Bruce, and that the puppies would have their eyes open in
a day or two.

"And one of them's to be yours--your Grandpa said so," Jimmie went on.

And in spite of that--and what child would not be pleased to have a puppy
for his very own?--the queer little feeling still stayed with Sunny Boy.
It was like a small lump of lead right down at the end of his throat.

"I'm going up to the house now for the milk pails," announced Jimmie,
when they had finished looking at the puppies. "You can come out and
watch me milk if you want to."

In the kitchen they found Mother and Grandma.

"Don't let Topaz in," said Grandma, as Jimmie opened the door. "That
wretched cat has eaten half my egg custard, and I won't have him in the
house again to-night."

Araminta was setting the table in the dining room and did not hear. Sunny
Boy gulped a little, but spoke up bravely.

"'Twasn't Topaz, Grandma. I knocked the custard over, looking for cake. I
didn't mean to, but my hand slipped."

Then how he did cry!

But when the whole story had come out, and Grandma had hugged him, and
had said not to mind, that she could make another pudding in a minute;
after Mother had whispered to him that while it was naughty to help
oneself to cake without asking, it was much worse to let the kitty-cat be
blamed, and had kissed him and assured him she was sure he wou