"Oh, dear me!" cried Rose. "The poor thing!"
She had said that twice before, but everybody was so excited that none of them noticed that Rose was repeating herself. In fact, both Vi and Margy said the very same thing, and in chorus:
"Oh, the poor thing!"
"Is that a red calf, Tad Munson?" asked Laddie. "For if it is, it's a riddle. Its head and its neck and its tail are all splattered with mud."
"It was a red calf when it went into the swamp, all right," said Tad with confidence. "I know that calf, all right. And John Winsome told me only this morning that he had lost it."
"Who put it in that horrid swamp?" Vi demanded.
"I guess it just wandered in," said Tad.
"And it is sinking down right now," Russ tried. "See it?"
Indeed the poor calf—a well grown animal—was in a very serious plight. It was eight or ten feet from the edge of the road where the logs were. And the calf had evidently struggled a good deal and was now quite exhausted. It turned its head to look at the children and blatted again.
"Oh, dear!" said Margy, almost in tears, "it is asking us to help it just as plain as it can."