"It was funny, though," insisted Bobby smiling.

Meg tried not to laugh and then she gave in.

"Yes, it was," she admitted, dimpling. "The ink splashed all over, Mother, and when Miss Mason made Palmer take it out it gave another jump and landed way over on the window seat."

"Miss Mason has it now," said Bobby. "She wouldn't give it back."

"But it's mine," wailed Twaddles. "I want it to play with. Make Meg get it, won't you, Mother?"

"I won't!" announced Meg stubbornly.

"Don't speak that way, Meg," said Mother Blossom gently.

"Twaddles, it seems to me that since the gra.s.shopper got Meg into such trouble, and you put it in her pocket, that you're the one to get it back. If you want it badly enough to ask Miss Mason for it, well and good; otherwise I fear you have lost your gra.s.shopper."

Poor Twaddles knew there was no way out of it. Either he must lose his beautiful green gra.s.shopper, or else go and ask Miss Mason to give it to him. Mother Blossom never allowed the children to coax; when she said a thing she always meant it.

"Will you go ask, Dot?" Twaddles said to his little sister, after Meg and Bobby had gone back to school.

"I'll go with you," offered Dot "But I won't go all by myself without any one with me."

So it happened that Miss Mason was much surprised to receive a visit that afternoon a few minutes after she had dismissed her cla.s.s. She had met Twaddles and Dot before, when they had paid their first visit to the school, and she remembered them at once.

"I'm very glad to see you," she a.s.sured them. "Won't you come in and sit down? Meg and Bobby have been telling me about Apple Tree Island."

"Yes, I guess we're going," murmured Twaddles, his eyes fixed in fascination on his mechanical gra.s.shopper reposing on the top of the teacher's desk.

"Will Norah and Annabel Lee and Philip go with you?" asked Miss Mason, who knew all about the Blossom family and their pets.

"I don't know about Norah and Annabel Lee," returned Dot politely, "but Sam Layton took Philip to Canada with him; he was really like Sam's own dog 'cause he mostly fed him. Of course," she added, "that makes Twaddles very lonesome."

"Yes?" said Miss Mason, as though she did not quite understand.

"You see," explained Dot bravely, "now he hasn't any dog or any gra.s.shopper!"

Miss Mason stared at the little girl for a moment. Then she leaned back in her chair and laughed.

"Is that your gra.s.shopper, Twaddles?" she asked merrily. "What was it doing, then, in Meg's pocket?"

Miss Mason had at first refused to use any nicknames in her cla.s.s and she had insisted on calling Bobby and Meg by their true names, "Robert" and "Margaret." As for Twaddles and Dot, the teacher had declared that never, never, could she consent to calling children by such "queer" names. But, after a while, she had grown used to the queer names and, like every one else in Oak Hill, forgot that the four little Blossoms had any others.

Dot sensibly thought that Twaddle should make his own explanation, and that small boy did, rather shamefacedly. Miss Mason gave him his gra.s.shopper and advised him not to play tricks on his sister again.

"I won't," promised Twaddles earnestly, "at least, not pocket ones."

Down in the hall, on their way out, Twaddles and Dot met Mr.

Carter, who also remembered them from their earlier visit. He shook hands with them and very naturally asked them what brought them to school.

"Meg and Bobby went home at least half an hour ago," he said kindly.

"We came for my gra.s.shopper," explained Twaddles, and that brought out the whole story.

"Dot," remarked Twaddles thoughtfully when they were walking home, "it wouldn't be so bad being bad if you didn't have to tell about it, would it?"

Dot understood at once.

"N--o," she drawled slowly. "But we'd feel worse if we never did tell."

Twaddles was so glad to get his gra.s.shopper back that he made it hop all the way home. And at home the twins found Miss Florence, the Oak Hill dressmaker, talking with Mother Blossom.

"I'll come to-morrow, then," Miss Florence was saying as Dot and Twaddles came up the path. "Here's Dot now. Come here, child, while I measure your skirt. Did you know you were going to have a new dress to wear to Apple Tree Island?"

"I hope it's pink," said Dot with interest. "Pink with a white organdie sash. And I can wear my white shoes and stockings."

"When can we begin to pack?" demanded the practical Bobby. "We can do most of that for you, Mother."

Miss Florence folded up her measure.

"Your mother's going to have her hands full," she observed, rising. "Well, it's most supper time and I must run. I'll be over early in the morning, Mrs. Blossom. Here comes Mr. Blossom now."

"Tell us the story!" cried the four little Blossoms, falling upon their father before he had brought the car quite to a stop. "Tell us the story about Apple Tree Island, Daddy! Please!"

"With fresh asparagus for supper?" asked Father Blossom in great surprise. "I couldn't think of it! After supper you shall hear all about the island, chicks."

CHAPTER V

APPLE TREE ISLAND

"Now tell us, Daddy," begged Dot when, supper over, they were gathered about the fireplace in the living room. "Tell us, 'fore Twaddles and I have to go to bed."

"It isn't such a long story," began Father Blossom. "You can hear it all before you have to go to bed. I don't know whether Mother has told you, but when Bobby was a baby we spent a summer on Apple Tree Island."

"It's funny I don't seem to remember much about it," remarked Bobby anxiously.

"Well, old man, not so funny considering that you were about eight months old," returned his father with a smile. "We rented a rather pretty cottage very near the spot where Mr. Winthrop, a year or so later, built his bungalow. Your mother started off for a walk one day with Bobby, and she walked too far; he was heavy for a baby, and she should never have tried to carry him. But she did, and she walked as far as the other end of the island before her strength gave out. Then what do you suppose she did, Meg?"

Meg looked serious.

"I don't know," she admitted. "Maybe she cried?"

"Mothers don't cry," said Twaddles in fine scorn. "Do they, Daddy?"

"I cried," confessed Mother Blossom, smiling at the astonished Twaddles. "I'll never forget how I felt--so far from home and with a heavy, fretting baby in my arms. I just sat down on a rock and cried. And Bobby cried with me."

The four little Blossoms were too amazed to speak. To think of Mother crying!