her flower garden, and Dot who liked to see fresh flowers on the dining-room table.
When Meg had her apron full of apples she sat down near Dot, and the four ate as many sweet summer apples as four small people could who had eaten breakfast less than an hour before.
"There's Poots," said Meg suddenly, glancing up and seeing the black cat picking her way through the grass. "Do you suppose she is hunting birds?"
Poots blinked her green eyes innocently. If she were after birds, she had no intention of catching any before an audience. She sat down and began to wash her face.
A mischievous idea seized Twaddles.
"Rats, Spotty!" he shouted. "Rats!"
Now rats sounds pretty much like "cats," and the excited and startled Spotty did not stop to question which word Twaddles had used. He jumped up, his ears pointing forward.
"Rats, sic 'em!" said bad little Twaddles. "Rats, Spotty!"
Spotty barked twice sharply. Poots arose, her fur bristling. Spotty leaped at her, barking
