“No, what?” answered Babs punning on his exclamation.
“Our little Nicky brought me the corkingest little wooden mug, all carved in queer birds and little beasties——”
“When?” interrupted Babs eagerly.
“When what? Birds or beasties?” asked Dudley.
“Oh, when did he bring them, silly?” Cara asked her brother. She understood Babs’ eagerness.
“Well,” drawled Dudley, as a boy will when he knows a girl is anxious, “to be exact——” He looked at his watch.
“Please tell me when he came, Dud?” Babs asked frankly. “I’ve lost track of Nicky and I must find him.”
“Oh; that’s different,” replied the boy. “Well, he came this morning while Glenn and I were knocking up some wonderful tennis. He crawled through the hedge and I imagine he swam the brook. He looked just about like something that had swum a brook when the brook was being swept out. He can look too funny, that youngster.”
“Did he say anything about having moved?” Barbara asked impatiently.
“Nary a word. But say, Babs, they don’t move, they flit, like the birds. And a good thing too. Lucky dogs! Everybody ought to flit instead of moving. Remember when we last moved, little sister?”