“Meg!”

The little girl curled up in the window-seat did not move.

“Meg, you know Mother said we were to go before four o’clock, and it’s half-past three now. You’ll wait till the twins come in, and then they’ll want to go, too.” Bobby Blossom looked anxiously at his sister.

Meg put down her book and untangled her feet from the window cushions.

“I’m coming,” she promised. “I never do get a chapter all read, Bobby. Where’s my hat? I see it. I’ll get it!”

Meg’s hat was on the lawn outside where she had dropped it, and now she raised the screen and tumbled through the window to the ground. It wasn’t far to tumble, and Meg had done it so often she was sure of landing safely.

“Norah says no lady goes out of the house through a window,” giggled Bobby, tumbling after Meg and closing the screen carefully. Bobby was always careful to leave everything as he found it.

Meg giggled, too.

“I don’t care, long as I grow up to be a lady like Mother,” she asserted. “Let’s hurry, Bobby, and perhaps we can stop at the library.”

The children had reached the two stone posts at the foot of the lawn when a loud shriek halted them.

“Meg Blossom, you said I could go! Wait for me!”

Down the slightly sloping lawn hurried a short, thick-set little girl with dark eyes and hair and the reddest cheeks you ever saw. She carried a doll whose blue eyes opened and shut snappily with every jump her small mother took. This was Dot, Meg’s little sister.

“You said I could go,” panted Dot, when she caught up with Meg and Bobby. “Wait for Twaddles, he’s coming. He wants to take the kiddie car.”

“I told you so,” scolded Bobby. “I never went uptown in my life all you children didn’t want to tag along. You’ve got grease on your dress, Dot.”

“Sam was cleaning the car,” said Dot serenely. “I guess I brushed against the grease can. It won’t show when I’m sitting down. There’s Twaddles.”

Bumping its way over the green grass came a kiddie car with a small boy astride it.

“I’m all ready,” he beamed. “Come on, Bobby.”

“You can’t take that kiddie car,” announced Bobby firmly. “Mother said this letter was to go in the four o’clock mail and we’ve got to hurry. If you and Dot want to go, you’ll have to walk fast.”

Twaddles usually minded Bobby. He promptly surrendered the kiddie car and continued to smile pleasantly.

The four Blossoms trudged briskly along. If you had ever lived in Oak Hill you would have known them. The whole town knew Meg and Bobby and Dot and Twaddles, and the children knew nearly every one, having lived in that one place all their short lives.

Bobby was the oldest. He was seven, and was remarkably like his sister Meg in looks. Both had fair hair and blue eyes. Meg’s real name was Margaret Alice Blossom, and she was named for her mother. Bobby’s full name was Robert Hayward Blossom. He was just a year older than Meg.

The twins were the funniest and dearest little couple, four years old and as roly-poly, happy-go-lucky a pair of youngsters as ever tumbled into one scrape after another and out again. They were known as Dot and Twaddles to all their friends, but, of course, they had “real” names like other children. Dot was named for an aunt, Dorothy Anna Blossom, and Twaddles was Arthur Gifford Blossom, if you please. Only no one ever called him that.

The Blossom children lived at the very tip end of the long straggling street that divided Oak Hill into two sections; in fact the Blossoms’ rambling, comfortable old house was almost outside the town limits. Father Blossom owned the big foundry on the other side of the railroad.

“I’ll go in,” said Bobby, when they reached the post-office. “You wait here.”

He disappeared into the yellow wooden building that was the Oak Hill post-office, and the other Blossoms, seeing a stalled car, stopped to watch the troubles of the interurban motorman whose trolley-car was blocked by a dog that apparently wanted to be run over.

The motorman clanged his bell and a boy on the curbstone whistled shrilly, but the dog refused to budge. He only rolled over on his side.

“He’s hurt,” said Meg. “See, his foot drags. I’ll get him off.”

She dashed out into the street and bent over the poor animal. Meg was “just crazy,” her brothers said, about animals, and she was never afraid of any four-footed creature. Now, as she leaned over the little dog, he began to lick her hand with his rough tongue.

“His leg’s broken,” Meg said pityingly to the conductor and the motorman who had joined her. “Oh, the poor doggie! But Doctor Maynard will fix it.”

There was a crowd now gathered on the car tracks, and Bobby, who had come out of the post-office and heard from the twins what was going on, pushed his way through to his sister.

“You hold your dress,” he directed. “I’ll lift him. There!”

The little dog was a heavy armful for Meg, but she held him bravely.

“I’m afraid of strange dogs myself,” declared the conductor, plainly relieved that some one else had tended to the dog. “What are you going to do with him, little girl?”

“Take him to the doctor’s,” announced Meg. “Aren’t we, Bobby?”

“Of course,” affirmed Bobby.

He and Meg, carrying the dog, went back to where Twaddles and Dot were waiting. The twins were used to waiting patiently while the older children investigated sudden alarms and excitements.

“Let me pat him,” begged Dot. “He’s pretty, isn’t he? Is he hurt, Meg? What are you going to do with him?”

“Take him to Doctor Maynard’s,” said Meg briefly. “I guess he’s in, ’cause it’s after four o’clock.”

Kind, jolly Doctor Maynard was in. He was the Blossoms’ family doctor, and knew the children very well. He didn’t seem a bit surprised to have the four of them walk into his consulting room.

“Now, who’s sick?” he demanded, pretending to be anxious. “Don’t tell me Dot needs gingerbread pills? Or has Twaddles been eating too much layer cake? Dear, dear, you can’t all have the whooping cough!”

Meg smiled, a little watery smile. Tears stood in her blue eyes.

“It’s this,” she said, spreading out her dress on the couch so that the doctor could see the dog. “I think his leg is broken.”

Doctor Maynard sat down on the couch and the children crowded around him. The brown eyes of the dog watched him intently as though he knew that help was at hand.

“Yes, it’s broken,” said the doctor gently, after feeling of the slim little hind leg that dragged so uselessly. “But we can mend it, Meg. I have splints right here.”

While the others watched, Doctor Maynard tore off long white strips of cloth and selected two wooden splints. These he placed one on each side of the broken leg and then directed Meg to wind the strips firmly around while he held the splints in place. This was to make the leg grow strong and straight again.

“Doesn’t it hurt?” demanded Twaddles curiously.

“Yes, it hurts him,” admitted Doctor Maynard, stroking the head of the little dog. “But animals are splendid patients, and they seldom complain. Now, then, our little friend is about as good as new, except that he will have to go on three legs for a bit.”

The telephone rang just then and it proved to be a call for the doctor.

“I’ll have to run along, chicks,” he said hurriedly. “Going to keep the dog, Meg?”

“If Mother doesn’t care,” answered Meg.

“Mother won’t care,” said Bobby, as the children were walking home. He was very fond of his sister and tried to help her get whatever she wanted. “Sam will let him sleep in the garage and perhaps he will be a ratter. Sam likes a dog that is a ratter.” Sam Layton was the man of all work employed by Mr. Blossom.

Meg and Bobby took turns carrying the dog home, and Twaddles mourned the fact that the kiddie car had not been brought along.

“I could have given him a ride,” he explained. “What makes his tongue hang out like that, Meg?”

“He’s hot,” said Meg. “And I think he wants a drink. Let’s take him around to the kitchen and give him some water.”

As they neared the kitchen door some one spoke to them through the screen.

“Meg! Meg! What’s this you do be bringing home with ye? A dog? Most likely it has the mange now, or some disease ye will all be catching. Why can’t ye ever take up with a nice, quiet cat? ’Tis no dog I’ll be having in me clean kitchen, mind that!”

Meg put the strange dog down on the gravel path. He swayed unsteadily on three legs.

“Look, Norah,” she said. “His leg is broken. Doctor Maynard set it. And we only want to get him a drink of water. He’s thirsty. He needn’t even come into the house.”

Norah had a sharp tongue, but her heart was generous and sweet.

“The poor beastie!” she said, opening the screen door of her jealously guarded kitchen. “Bring him in, Meg. He do be having fever, I suspect. I’ll get him a cup of water. Dear, dear!”

Making a soft, sympathetic, clucking noise, Norah hurried to get a cup of cool water which the little dog lapped up greedily, standing on his three good legs.

“Bobby said he thought Sam would let him sleep in the garage,” said Meg. “I suppose it is cooler there for him. All right, Norah, I’ll carry him out. But we want to show him to Mother.”

“She went to meet your father she and Sam with the car,” Norah told them. “And if I don’t get my biscuits in, they’ll be back before there’s a thing cooked to eat.”

The children took the hint and hurried to the garage. Bobby and Twaddles spread an old mat for the dog in a cool, dark corner, and very glad he seemed to be to have a place to lie down.

“We’ll bring you some supper,” Meg promised, patting him kindly. “You take a nap and forget ’bout your troubles.”

“There’s the car round front!” shouted Twaddles. “Bet you I see Daddy first.”

“Bet you don’t!” shrieked Dot.

With wild whoops the children tore round to the front of the house and fell upon Father and Mother Blossom just getting out of the car.

“We brought a dog home,” cried Bobby.

“Come out and see him,” urged Meg, clinging to her Mother’s hand. “He’s a dear little dog, and I love him already.”