"We'd like to know what we are going to take!" interrupted Mrs. Martin. She felt she must say something, with all those queer noises going on in the house.
"Maybe it's babies!" suggested Trouble, as he listened to what seemed to be a crying sound from the old mansion.
"They're worse than babies!" declared Mrs. Watson. "I don't mind children and babies. But these things make so much noise I can't hear myself think. That's why I came out on the steps to sit down and be quiet! Oh, I'm so glad you've come to take charge of 'em!"
"But what are they? You haven't told us what they are," said Mr. Martin, as the screeching, yelling noises kept on sounding from within the house. "Do they always screech like that?"
"Only when they're hungry," said the queer old lady. "And I expect they're hungry now. I just hate to go in to feed them, they make such a fuss, and I'm afraid some of 'em will bite me. Not on purpose you know," she quickly added, "but just because they're so playful and full of fun."
"My dear Mrs. Watson," said Mr. Martin in slow tones, "will you please tell us what it is my Uncle Toby has left for me to take charge of! Is it an insane asylum?"
"Yes, for goodness' sake, please tell us!" begged the mother of the Curlytops.
"Why, I thought you knew!" replied Mrs. Watson, in some surprise. "Didn't Uncle Toby speak of them in his letter?"
"No, he did not say what they were," answered Mr. Martin. "He only mentioned a collection. Please tell us. What is making all that racket?"
"Uncle Toby's pets," was the answer. "Uncle Toby said he was going to leave them to you when he went away on a long trip. He may be gone for several years, and he said he might live the rest of his life in South America, where he is going. So he told me to give you his pets to take charge of. You are to take them, and do as you please with them, though I guess Uncle Toby would like to have you keep them and be kind to them."