"'Tis a lion," said Sammie again. "He ran after me an' I ran an' he ran in
the bushes an' he's there now. He barked at me!"

"Ho! If he barked it's a DOG," cried Hal. "Where is he, Sammie?"

"In there," and Sammie pointed to the tangle of morning glory vines. Just
then Mab saw something that made her call out:

"Why it is a dog. It's OUR dog--Roly-Poly!"

"Are you sure?" asked her father. "Roly is over at Mr. Thompson's house
you know," for the little poodle had been sent away while the garden was
being made. Mr. Thompson had planted nothing, having too small a yard.

"I don't care!" exclaimed Mab. "I DID see Roly. He's in the bushes
there--under the morning glories."

"Well, if it's your dog Roly I would not be so frightened of HIM," said
Sammie. "Only I thinked he was a LION."

"Here, Roly! Roly-Poly, come on out!" cried Hal, and out came a very
queer-looking dog indeed. It was Roly, but how he had changed. He was all
stuck over with leaves, grass and bits of bark from the trees. He
certainly did "fuzzy," as Sammie had said, and not at all like the nice,
clean poodle he had been.

"Oh, whatever is the matter with him?" cried Mab.

"He's got a lot of leaves stuck on him," added Hal. "Come here, Roly, and
I'll pull 'em off for you."