she looked under the table. "Why, there's almost as much water as there is in our brook at home!"

"Oh, not quite so much," said her mother gently. "Though there is enough to have wet through the soles of my shoes. I was wondering why my feet felt so damp and cold. And did Trouble turn on the water? Oh, Trouble!"

All eyes gazed at the little fellow, and he seemed to think he should explain what he had done.

"I 'ist turned de handle a teeny bit," he said, "to make a 'ittle water come out. An' den I fordot 'bout it!"

That was just what he had done. Seeing the waiter draw a glass of water from the cooler had given Trouble the idea that he soon afterward carried out. When he saw no monkey with the hand organ, the little fellow had gone back to his seat and, on the way, opened the faucet so that the water ran out in a little stream. Soon the drip-pan was full and then the water began trickling over the floor. No one noticed it until it had made a little puddle under the table, just at the point where Mrs. Martin's feet were.

"Oh, Trouble! what will you do next?" sighed the little fellow's mother.

"No harm done at all! None whatever!" said the waiter, coming up to the table smiling. "That little water on the floor I will wipe up so quick you will never see it."

"No, it won't hurt the floor much," Mr. Martin said. "And I suppose your shoes will dry out," he told his wife. "But, all the same, William should not have done it."

"I won't do it any more," said the little fellow. "I be good now! I sorry!"

He generally was when he had done something like that. However, as the waiter had said, little real harm was done, and Mrs. Martin's shoes would dry, for it was a hot, summer day.

The meal was finished and they all took their places in the automobile again to finish the ride to Uncle Toby's place, about twenty miles farther on.

Once again Trouble, Ted and Janet sat in the rear seat, while their father and mother rode in front. And this time Trouble had no red balloon which he could blow up, making it burst with a noise like a punctured tire. The children talked among themselves, wondering over and over again what it could be that Uncle Toby wanted their father to come and take charge of.

"Maybe he's got a little boy or a girl from an orphan asylum, and he wants us to take it to live with us," suggested Janet.

"A boy would be all right," decided Ted, as he thought of this. "I could have fun with another fellow."

"And I'd like a girl," said Janet. "I always wished I had a sister."

"Maybe they're twins—a boy and a girl," Ted went on. "That would be fun!"

"What would be fun?" asked his mother from the front seat, where she had heard the talk of the children. She often asked a question like this, as it sometimes stopped a bit of mischief that, otherwise, might happen. "What fun are you talking about?" asked Mrs. Martin.

"Uncle Toby," answered Janet. "I thought maybe what he wanted daddy to take charge of was a little orphan girl."

"And I thought maybe it was a boy," added Ted.

"And then we both thought maybe it was twins—a boy and a girl, and we'd each have someone to play with," went on Janet.

"My! I don't believe Uncle Toby has adopted any orphan children that he wants us to take," Mrs. Martin said. "I can't imagine what he really has, but we'll soon find out."

On and on they rode in the automobile, until, after a while, they reached the small city of Pocono and, a little later, they pulled up in front of Uncle Toby's house. It was a rambling, old mansion that once had looked very nice, but now it was rather shabby and needed painting.

"Here is where Uncle Toby lives," said Daddy Martin. "Do you children remember it?"

"A little," admitted Ted. Neither he nor Janet had been there in years, and Trouble had never visited Uncle Toby.

"I wonder if he's at home," went on Daddy Martin, as he alighted from the automobile.

"There's someone on the porch," said Mrs. Martin. "Oh, it's Mrs. Watson, the housekeeper," she added. "But something seems to be the matter! I wonder what can have happened?"

As Mother Martin spoke a queer little old lady came down off the porch and along the walk, hurrying out to meet the Curlytops, all of whom were now at the front gate.

"Wait! Don't go in! Don't go in!" cried the queer old lady, holding up her hand like a traffic policeman stopping a fast automobile. "Don't go in! They're having a terrible time! Oh, that Mr. Bardeen ever should have gone away and left me to look after 'em! Oh, the trouble I have had! Such trouble! Don't go in! Listen to 'em!"

As she spoke there came strange sounds from the grim old house where Uncle Toby lived! Very strange sounds!

CHAPTER IV

UNCLE TOBY'S PETS

"Listen to that noise!" called Teddy, pausing with his hand on the gate that led into Uncle Toby's yard. "It's two boys having fun. I guess Uncle Toby left two fellows that you can take home and I can have fun with," Teddy added laughingly to his father.

"Two boys! Oh, my goodness!" exclaimed Mrs. Martin.

Just then a shrill scream sounded from within the queer, old house.

"It's girls!" said Janet. "Girls cry just like that when they're having fun! Oh, I'll be glad to have a sister to play with!"

Mr. and Mrs. Martin looked at each other in surprise and wonderment. What could it mean? The queer, little old lady—Mrs. Watson, the housekeeper—murmured again:

"Listen to 'em! I can't do a thing with 'em since Uncle Toby went away. I'm so glad you came to take charge of 'em as he asked you to. You did come for that, didn't you?" she asked eagerly. "You got Uncle Toby's letter, asking you to come and take charge of the collection he left, didn't you?"

"Oh, yes," answered the father of the Curlytops. "We got Uncle Toby's letter all right, and we came to take charge. But——"

"We'd like to know what we are going to take!" interrupted Mrs. Martin. She felt she must say something, with all those queer noises going on in the house.

"Maybe it's babies!" suggested Trouble, as he listened to what seemed to be a crying sound from the old mansion.

"They're worse than babies!" declared Mrs. Watson. "I don't mind children and babies. But these things make so much noise I can't hear myself think. That's why I came out on the steps to sit down and be quiet! Oh, I'm so glad you've come to take charge of 'em!"

"But what are they? You haven't told us what they are," said Mr. Martin, as the screeching, yelling noises kept on sounding from within the house. "Do they always screech like that?"

"Only when they're hungry," said the queer old lady. "And I expect they're hungry now. I just hate to go in to feed them, they make such a fuss, and I'm afraid some of 'em will bite me. Not on purpose you know," she quickly added, "but just because they're so playful and full of fun."

"My dear Mrs. Watson," said Mr. Martin in slow tones, "will you please tell us what it is my Uncle Toby has left for me to take charge of! Is it an insane asylum?"

"Yes, for goodness' sake, please tell us!" begged the mother of the Curlytops.

"Why, I thought you knew!" replied Mrs. Watson, in some surprise. "Didn't Uncle Toby speak of them in his letter?"

"No, he did not say what they were," answered Mr. Martin. "He only mentioned a collection. Please tell us. What is making all that racket?"

"Uncle Toby's pets," was the answer. "Uncle Toby said he was going to leave them to