“One’s almost as black as Snoop!” said Bert.
“Where in the world did you children get these kittens?” asked their mother.
“Back at the farmhouse,” replied Freddie. “We thought we better have some animals to take out to Cloverbank in case Mr. Watson hasn’t any, so Flossie and I put these five kittens in the box and put them in our car.”
“There were six,” added Flossie; “but we left one with the mother cat so she wouldn’t be lonesome.”
“Do you mean you youngsters packed these cats up back at the farmhouse where we got the milk?” asked Mr. Bobbsey.
“Yes, Daddy,” assented Freddie. “We did.”
“But don’t you know that was a wrong thing to do?” reproved his mother. “These kittens weren’t yours to take. They belong to some one at the farm where they were so kind to us.”
“Yes,” answered Flossie calmly. “They belong to the red-haired boy there. I asked him if the kittens were his and he said they were. Then Freddie asked him if we could have them and he said we could. Didn’t he, Freddie?”
“That’s what he did,” was the answer. “So we took them.”
“Well, I should say you did!” and now Mrs. Bobbsey could not help laughing. “But why didn’t you ask me if you could do this?”