“Come, Ravelings,” she coaxed, and the white fuzzy head moved but the legs refused to do so.
“Not a trap, I hope,” she murmured.
One more perilous forward motion, for at every move she was being scratched and torn with the briars, then she had her hand on Ravelings.
His long shaggy fur was completely wound up in a wiry bramble, and the little creature could no more move than if he had been in a trap.
My, how dirty and bedraggled he was! However could he have gotten back to Glenwood?
“Wait,” she said as if he might understand, “I’ll get you out without hurting you.”
Making her way clear of the shrubs, through the path she had made crawling in, Dorothy ran back to the hall, and up the outside stairs to her room.
“Tavia! Quick!” she called. “Give me the scissors!”
“Mercy sakes! What’s this? Suicide!” exclaimed the lazy one, not yet dressing. “Wait. I’ll get you something easier.”
Too impatient to talk with her, Dorothy got to her own work basket and procured the scissors. Then back she went to the damp nest where Ravelings waited.