Mother Blossom looked at Father.
“Well, Ralph?” she said.
“Why, keep him, of course,” counseled Father Blossom, laughter-twinkles in his kind eyes. “Norah is the sole objector in the family, and if you can pacify her there’s no reason why we shouldn’t have as many dogs as we want. Named him yet, Meg?”
“I want to think about a name for him,” replied Meg. “You can’t change names, you know, 19 and I wouldn’t want him to have a silly name.”
“That’s my cautious daughter,” said Father Blossom. “And now it seems to me that some one said we were going to have supper early to-night.”
“We are,” declared Mother Blossom. “Children, you have several things to do before you are ready for the table. Your faces and hands are a sight. Bobby, didn’t you go to the post-office? Was there any mail?”
“I forgot, Mother––there was one letter for you,” answered Bobby, pulling a crumpled envelope from his pocket. “The dog kind of took my attention,” he added.
Mother Blossom went into the house to read her letter, and the four children scampered upstairs to wash their faces and hands. Meg and Dot shared the same room, and Bobby and Twaddles slept in the room adjoining. Each child had a little white bed and a separate bureau.
“I s’pose I’d better put on another dress,” said Dot doubtfully. “Mother didn’t say to, though. Shall I, Meg?”