Four Little Blossoms at Brookside Farm.

by Mabel C. Hawley.

CHAPTER I

THE RESCUE OF PHILIP

"Meg!"

The little girl curled up in the window-seat did not move.

"Meg, you know Mother said we were to go before four o'clock, and it's half-past three now. You'll wait till the twins come in, and then they'll want to go, too." Bobby Blossom looked anxiously at his sister.

Meg put down her book and untangled her feet from the window cushions.

"I'm coming," she promised. "I never do get a chapter all read, Bobby.

Where's my hat? I see it. I'll get it!"

Meg's hat was on the lawn outside where she had dropped it, and now she raised the screen and tumbled through the window to the ground.

It wasn't far to tumble, and Meg had done it so often she was sure of landing safely.

"Norah says no lady goes out of the house through a window," giggled Bobby, tumbling after Meg and closing the screen carefully. Bobby was always careful to leave everything as he found it.

Meg giggled, too.

"I don't care, long as I grow up to be a lady like Mother," she a.s.serted. "Let's hurry, Bobby, and perhaps we can stop at the library."

The children had reached the two stone posts at the foot of the lawn when a loud shriek halted them.

"Meg Blossom, you said I could go! Wait for me!"

Down the slightly sloping lawn hurried a short, thick-set little girl with dark eyes and hair and the reddest cheeks you ever saw. She carried a doll whose blue eyes opened and shut snappily with every jump her small mother took. This was Dot, Meg's little sister.

"You said I could go," panted Dot, when she caught up with Meg and Bobby. "Wait for Twaddles, he's coming. He wants to take the kiddie car."

"I told you so," scolded Bobby. "I never went uptown in my life all you children didn't want to tag along. You've got grease on your dress, Dot."

"Sam was cleaning the car," said Dot serenely. "I guess I brushed against the grease can. It won't show when I'm sitting down. There's Twaddles."

b.u.mping its way over the green gra.s.s came a kiddie car with a small boy astride it.

"I'm all ready," he beamed. "Come on, Bobby."

"You can't take that kiddie car," announced Bobby firmly. "Mother said this letter was to go in the four o'clock mail and we've got to hurry.

If you and Dot want to go, you'll have to walk fast."

Twaddles usually minded Bobby. He promptly surrendered the kiddie car and continued to smile pleasantly.

The four Blossoms trudged briskly along. If you had ever lived in Oak Hill you would have known them. The whole town knew Meg and Bobby and Dot and Twaddles, and the children knew nearly every one, having lived in that one place all their short lives.

Bobby was the oldest. He was seven, and was remarkably like his sister Meg in looks. Both had fair hair and blue eyes. Meg's real name was Margaret Alice Blossom, and she was named for her mother. Bobby's full name was Robert Hayward Blossom. He was just a year older than Meg.

The twins were the funniest and dearest little couple, four years old and as roly-poly, happy-go-lucky a pair of youngsters as ever tumbled into one sc.r.a.pe after another and out again. They were known as Dot and Twaddles to all their friends, but, of course, they had "real"

names like other children. Dot was named for an aunt, Dorothy Anna Blossom, and Twaddles was Arthur Gifford Blossom, if you please. Only no one ever called him that.

The Blossom children lived at the very tip end of the long straggling street that divided Oak Hill into two sections; in fact the Blossoms'

rambling, comfortable old house was almost outside the town limits.

Father Blossom owned the big foundry on the other side of the railroad.

"I'll go in," said Bobby, when they reached the post-office. "You wait here."

He disappeared into the yellow wooden building that was the Oak Hill post-office, and the other Blossoms, seeing a stalled car, stopped to watch the troubles of the interurban motorman whose trolley-car was blocked by a dog that apparently wanted to be run over.

The motorman clanged his bell and a boy on the curbstone whistled shrilly, but the dog refused to budge. He only rolled over on his side.

"He's hurt," said Meg. "See, his foot drags. I'll get him off."

She dashed out into the street and bent over the poor animal. Meg was "just crazy," her brothers said, about animals, and she was never afraid of any four-footed creature. Now, as she leaned over the little dog, he began to lick her hand with his rough tongue.

"His leg's broken," Meg said pityingly to the conductor and the motorman who had joined her. "Oh, the poor doggie! But Doctor Maynard will fix it."

There was a crowd now gathered on the car tracks, and Bobby, who had come out of the post-office and heard from the twins what was going on, pushed his way through to his sister.

"You hold your dress," he directed. "I'll lift him. There!"

The little dog was a heavy armful for Meg, but she held him bravely.

"I'm afraid of strange dogs myself," declared the conductor, plainly relieved that some one else had tended to the dog. "What are you going to do with him, little girl?"

"Take him to the doctor's," announced Meg. "Aren't we, Bobby?"

"Of course," affirmed Bobby.

He and Meg, carrying the dog, went back to where Twaddles and Dot were waiting. The twins were used to waiting patiently while the older children investigated sudden alarms and excitements.

"Let me pat him," begged Dot. "He's pretty, isn't he? Is he hurt, Meg? What are you going to do with him?"

"Take him to Doctor Maynard's," said Meg briefly. "I guess he's in, 'cause it's after four o'clock."

Kind, jolly Doctor Maynard was in. He was the Blossoms' family doctor, and knew the children very well. He didn't seem a bit surprised to have the four of them walk into his consulting room.

"Now, who's sick?" he demanded, pretending to be anxious. "Don't tell me Dot needs gingerbread pills? Or has Twaddles been eating too much layer cake? Dear, dear, you can't all have the whooping cough!"

Meg smiled, a little watery smile. Tears stood in her blue eyes.

"It's this," she said, spreading out her dress on the couch so that the doctor could see the dog. "I think his leg is broken."