certainty. There had been no doubt of that from the first glimpse Rudolph gained of them in their dark little hole under the porch. But the next morning came and then what do you suppose happened? A very weak little puppy cry came from under the porch. Another puppy, that was what it meant, and Joseph was very much out of patience, for the trench had been filled up and the foundation-stones carefully replaced.

"Rudolph ought to have made sure how many there were," he said rather growlily.

"But, Joseph, this puppy cry comes from another place way over here, it seems to me," and Tattine ran to a spot on the porch several yards from that under which the others had been found. "I believe it must have been a cleverer little puppy than the others, and crawled away by itself to see what the world was like, and that is why Rudolph missed finding it."

Joseph put his hand to his ear and, listening carefully, concluded that Tattine was right. "Now I'll tell you what I am going to do," he said; "I can make just a little hole, large enough for a puppy to get through, without taking out a foundation-stone, and I'm going to make it here, near where the cry seems to come from. Then I am going to tie Betsy to this pillar of the porch, and I believe she'll have sense enough to try and coax the little fellow out, and if the is such an enterprising little chap as you think he'll have sense enough to come out."

It seemed a good plan. Betsy was brought, and Tattine sat down to listen and watch. Betsy, hearing the little cries, began at once to coax, giving little sharp barks at regular intervals, and trying to make the hole larger with her paws.

Tattine's ears, which were dear little shells of ears to look at, and very sharp little ears to hear with, thought the cries sounded a little nearer, and now a little nearer; then she was sure of it, and Betsy and she, both growing more excited every minute, kept pushing each other away from the hole the better to look into it, until at last two little beads of eyes glared out at them, and then it was an easy thing for Tattine to reach in and draw out the prettiest puppy of all.

"Why didn't you tell us there were five, Betsy, and save us all this extra trouble?" and Tattine hurried away to deposit number five in the kennel; but Betsy looked up with the most reproachful look imaginable as though to say, "How much talking could you do if you had to do it all with your eyes and a tail?"

CHAPTER IV. MORE TROUBLES

Patrick Kirk was raking the gravel on the road into pretty criss-cross patterns, and Tattine was pretending to help him with her own garden rake. Patrick was one of Tattine's best friends and she loved to work with him and to talk to him. Patrick was a fine old Irishman, there was no doubt whatever about that, faithful and conscientious to the last degree. Every morning he would drive over in his old buggy from his little farm in the Raritan Valley, in abundant time to begin work on the minute of seven, and not until the minute of six would he lay aside spade or hoe and turn his steps towards his old horse tied under the tree, behind the barn. But the most attractive thing about Patrick was his genial kindly smile, a smile that said as plainly as words, that he had found life very comfortable and pleasant, and that he was still more than content with it notwithstanding that his back was bowed with work month in and month out, and the years were hurrying him fast on into old age.

And so Tattine was fond of Patrick, for what (child though she was) she knew him to be, and they spent many a delightful hour in each other's company.

"Patrick," said Tattine, on this particular morning, when they were raking away side by side, "does Mrs. Kirk ever have a day at home?" and she glanced at Patrick a little mischievously, doubting if he would know just what she meant.

"Shure she has all her days at home, Miss Tattine, save on a holiday, when we go for a day's drive to some of our neighbors', but I doubt if I'm catching just what you're maning."

"Oh! I mean does she have a day sometimes when she gets ready for company and expects to have people come and see her, the way ladies do in town?"

"Well, no, miss; she don't do that, for, tin to one, nobody'd come if she did. We belongs to the workin' classes, Molly and I, and we has no time for the doing of the loikes of city people."

"I'm sorry she hasn't a day," said Tattine, "because—because—"

"If ye're maning that you'd like to give us a call, miss," said Patrick, beginning to take in the situation, "shure she could have a day at home as aisy as the foinest lady, and proud indeed she'd be to have it with your little self for the guest of honor."

"I would like to bring Rudolph and Mabel, Patrick."

"And what should hinder, miss?"

"And I'd like to have it an all-day-at-home, say from eleven in the morning until five in the afternoon, and not make just a little call, Patrick."

"Of course, miss, a regular long day, with your donkey put into a stall in the barn, and yourselves and the donkey biding for the best dinner we can give ye."

"And I'd like to have you there, Patrick, because we might not feel AT HOME just with Mrs. Kirk."

"Well, I don't know, miss; do you suppose your Father could spare me?" and Patrick thought a little regretfully of the dollar and a half he would insist upon foregoing if he took a day off, but at the same moment he berated himself soundly for having such an ungenerous thought. "Indade, miss, if you'll manage for me to have the day I'll gladly stay to home to make ye welcome."

"Then it's settled, Patrick, and we'll make it the very first day Papa can spare you." They had raked down, while they had been having this conversation, to close proximity to two pretty rows of apple-trees that had been left on the front lawn, a reminder of the farm that "used to be," and the sight of the trees brought a troubled look into Tattine's face. "Patrick," she said ruefully, "do you know that some of the nests in these trees have been robbed of their eggs? Four or five of them are empty now. Have you an idea who could do such a thing?"

"Yes, I have an idea," and Patrick rested his hands upon the handle of his rake and looked significantly towards the barn; "somebody who lives in the barn, I'm thinkin'."

"Why, Joseph would not do it, nor Philip the groom, and little Joey is too small to climb these trees."

"It's something smaller than Joey, miss. Whisht now, and see if she's not up to mischief this minute."

Tattine's little black-and-white kitten, whose home was in the barn, had been frisking about her feet during all the raking, but as the raking came under the apple-trees, other thoughts came into her little black-and-white head, and there she was stealthily clawing her way up the nearest tree. Tattine stood aghast, but Patrick's "whisht" kept her still for a moment, while the cat made its way along one of the branches. Tattine knowing well the particular nest she was seeking, made one bound for her with her rake, and with such a scream as certainly to scare little Black-and-white out of at least one of the nine lives to which she is supposed to be entitled. But pussy was too swift and swiftly scrambled to the very topmost twig that would hold her weight, while Tattine danced about in helpless rage on the grass beneath the tree. "Tattine is having a fit," thought little Black-and-white, scared half to death and quite ready to have a little fit of her own, to judge from her wild eyes and bristling tail.

Tattine's futile rage was followed in a few minutes by, "Oh, Patrick, I never dreamt it was Kittie. Has SHE been TRAINED to do it, do you think?"

"Oh. no, miss; it just comes natural to cats and kittens to prey upon birds and birds' nests."

"Patrick," said Tattine solemnly, "there is not going to be any four-legged thing left for me to love. I am done with