“He found a little hole just above the door in the attic, and crept into it, and we couldn’t get him out,” said Sylvia.
“No, he wouldn’t come out,” added Hetty, “though we climbed on two chairs, one on top of the other, and poked at him with a bit of stick.”
“Oh, I dare say he’s all right now,” said Betty. “You will probably find him again to-day. He’s sure to come for his raw meat.”
“But don’t you care, Bet? Won’t it be truly awful if our own Dickie is dead?”
“Dead! He won’t die,” said Betty; “but there’s quite a possibility he may frighten some one. I know one person I’d like to frighten.”
“Oh Bet, who do you mean?”
“That horrid girl—that cousin of ours, Fanny Crawford.”
“We don’t like her either,” said the twins.
“She’d be scared to death at Dickie,” said Betty. “She’s a rare old coward, you know. But never mind, don’t bother; you’ll probably find him this morning when you go up with his raw meat. He’s sure to come out of his hole in order to get his food.”