“Wait a minute, I have to sign my name,” interrupted Meg.
And she signed it, “Margaret Alice Blossom,” right in among the words of the twins’ letters that Bobby was patiently writing.
The next day was very warm, and Aunt Polly thought they had better play in the orchard instead of picking berries, so they trooped out soon after breakfast, to find the orchard cool and shady.
“I wish I had my book that was drowned,” mourned Meg. “I love to sit up in a tree and read.”
“Well, I loved Geraldine better than Tottie-Fay,” said Dot, giving the old doll a shake as she spoke.
“No use fussing,” advised the sensible Bobby. “They’re lost, and we mustn’t let Aunt Polly hear us, ’cause she’ll think she ought to go right off and buy us some more. I’m going to climb this tree. Who wants a ripe apple?”
“I do,” and Meg jumped up. “Let me hold my apron and you throw ’em down, Bobby. Twaddles, stop teasing Spotty.”
“I aren’t teasing him,” declared Twaddles indignantly. “I’m going to teach him to carry bundles.”
Twaddles’ method of teaching the patient Spotty was to sit down on him with feet spread wide apart and wait for the dog to shake him off.