“What’s the matter?” asked Bert. “Is your kite up there, Freddie?”
“No! It’s my doll! And Freddie threw her up there!” the little girl answered, drying her tears on her dress. “And she won’t come down and maybe I’ll never have her again. Oh, dear!”
“What in the world did you toss Flossie’s doll up into a tree for?” asked Nan of the little boy.
“I threw her up so she’d bring down some apples,” was the answer. “We wanted some apples, and we threw up stones and sticks, but we couldn’t knock any down, then I asked Flossie if I shouldn’t throw her doll up, ’cause she’s easier to throw than a stick. Flossie said yes, so I did.”
“But I didn’t think my doll was going to stay up there!” objected Flossie. “You said she’d come down with some apples; that’s what you did!”
“But how’d I know she was going to stick there?” asked Freddie. “Anyhow I’ll climb up and get her down for you.”
“No, you don’t!” cried Bert, catching Freddie as he was about to climb the tree. “I see where the doll is. She’s too high for you to reach. I think I can make her come down with a long stick.”
Bert found one with which he managed not only to dislodge the doll, but to bring down some apples as well, to the delight of the small twins. Then, restoring her plaything to Flossie, Bert and Nan took the small ones to the post-office with them.
When they returned they heard voices in the dining room of the farmhouse—voices in excited talk, it seemed—and at the sound of one voice Bert and Nan looked at each other in surprise.
“It’s Mrs. Martin!” whispered Nan.