He led the way to a corner of the tool-house.
Reposing in a nest made of pieces of carpet lined with soft flannel, were four puffballs of maltese which were quickly gathered and garnered by Pen and the children, while the mother-cat looked on with proud but apprehensive eyes.
“Who fixed them such a nice bed?” asked Francis.
“Your Uncle Kurt. But they tell me he rode away at first crack of daybreak, so he didn’t see them.”
“And they’ll have their eyes open before he gets back, maybe!” lamented Francis.
“Perhaps,” put in Jo, “he’ll get his eyes opened wide while he’s gone. Then he and the kits can meet on equal terms.”
“He’ll miss the dance, too,” said Betty sorrowfully.
“Whom do you men dance with?” asked Pen.
“Well, there’s Betty here stays up for three dances anyway, and there’s Mrs. Kingdon, and Ag, and the cook, and the other girl—and everything else failing, we make Gene Dossey play gal.”
“What music do you have?”