"Twaddles Blossom!" ejaculated Bobby. "What have you sat in?"
Twaddles twisted anxiously, trying to get a look at the back of his tunic blouse and bloomers.
"Does it show?" he asked uncomfortably. "I thought perhaps it didn't. I don't know what it is, Bobby—I only sat on that little box by the pump-thing in the back of the store."
"That's where they fill the kerosene oil cans," Bobby informed him. "I guess you've gone and soaked up some of the oil. Don't go near a match or you'll burn up."
This awful prospect alarmed Twaddles beyond words.
"I'll stay out here," he quavered nervously, for by this time the four little Blossoms had reached their own front lawn. "Mother might have the fireplace lighted."
Meg and Dot and Bobby were relieved at Twaddles' decision. They had no wish to see their little brother catch fire, and fire they always associated with kerosene oil, thanks to Norah's repeated and solemn warnings.
No one missed Twaddles until they were seated at the table.
"Where's Twaddles?" asked Mother Blossom in some alarm as she noted his empty chair. "Didn't he go to the store with you, Bobby?"
"Yes, Mother, he went with us," answered Bobby composedly, beginning to taste his soup.