“Good old boy,—fetch, fetch!” Franklin said, as Dulcie was safely landed, and Cyclone struggled back after another.
In ten minutes more he had rescued all the rabbits, and a board was laid across from the stairs to the coal-bin for the cats to descend. They stalked over in haughty silence, one after the other, and ignored the whole proceeding from that time forth. Indeed, Weejums could never even bear to hear it mentioned; perhaps because she felt that her dignity had been compromised.
But Cyclone breakfasted with the family that morning, and his extra bone was as sweet as his heart was proud.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE FAMILY IN THE PIANO BOX
WHEN Franklin went out into the yard on his birthday morning, he stopped and stared very hard at something that had never been there before.
It was a piano box, with an open space fenced off at one side, and a square hole leading into it, and at the end of the box was a real door, high enough for a boy to use.
“Why, where—” Franklin began, and then he heard a shout of laughter from Eunice and Bridget and Kenneth, who were watching him from the shed. Mrs. Wood was there, too, smiling at his astonishment.
“They’re chickens,” she explained. “Grandmother thought you didn’t spend enough time out of doors.”