Dot and Twaddles wouldn’t wake up, “not if there was an earthquake,” Daddy Blossom sometimes said, but Meg and Bobby were light sleepers and very apt to hear any unusual noise.
Together now they crept over to Meg’s window and, raising the screen very softly, peeped out. Something large and dark was moving about on the lawn below.
“I guess it’s Mr. Simmonds’ bull,” suggested Meg.
“Don’t you think we ought to go down and drive him off?” asked Bobby, quite as if driving bulls off his aunt’s lawn was a nightly task with him. “Or I’ll go alone––I’m the man of the house.”
As a matter of fact, he was. Aunt Polly and Linda slept in rooms across the hall at the back of the house, and apparently had heard nothing. But Meg had no idea of letting her brother face a bull alone.
“I’m coming, too,” she whispered. “Let’s put on our shoes––you know how wet the grass is at 129 night. And here’s a blanket, so you won’t catch cold.”
Wrapping herself in another blanket––Aunt Polly kept two light-weight blankets folded at the foot of each bed for chilly nights––Meg tiptoed carefully downstairs after Bobby. They knew their way about the house now, even in the dark. The front door was not locked, for people in the country seldom lock their doors.
“Why, Bobby!” Meg called softly. “Look! There’s a lot of ’em! See! All down the drive! They can’t be Mr. Simmonds’ bull–––”
“Well, not all of ’em,” snickered Bobby. “There’s only one of him. Come on, Meg, I’m going up to one and see what it is.”
“Why, it’s a calf!” cried Meg, in astonishment. “A darling baby calf! They all are! How many are there, Bobby?”