"What are you trying to say, Whistlebinkie?" asked Mollie.
"So—it—was," replied Whistlebinkie. "He must have moved it."
"But this isn't half as nice a place for it as the old one," said Mollie. "There isn't any shade here at all. Let's knock at the door, and see if he is at home. Maybe he will tell us why he has moved again."
Mollie tapped gently on the door, but received no response. Then she tried the knob, but the door was fastened.
"Nobody's home, I guess," she said.
"The back door is open," cried Whistlebinkie, running around to the rear of the house. "Come around this way, Mollie, and we can get in."
So around Mollie went, and sure enough there was the kitchen door standing wide open. A chicken was being grilled on the fire, and three eggs were in the pot boiling away so actively that they would undoubtedly have been broken had they not been boiling so long that they had become as hard as rocks.
"Isn't he the foolishest old man that ever was," said Mollie, as she caught sight of the chicken and the eggs. "That chicken will be burned to a crisp, and the eggs won't be fit to eat."
"I don't understand him at all," said Whistlebinkie. "Look at this notice to burglars he has pinned upon the wall."