CHAPTER III. A SET OF SETTERS

It was a great bird-year at Oakdene. Never had there been so many. The same
dear old Phoebe-birds were back, building under the eaves of both the front
and back piazzas. The robins, as usual, were everywhere. The Maryland
yellow-throats were nesting in great numbers in the young growth of woods on
the hill of the ravine, and ringing out their hammer-like note in the merriest
manner; a note that no one understood until Dr. Van Dyke told us, in his
beautiful little poem, that it is "witchery, witchery, witchery," and now we
wonder that we could have been so stupid as not to have discovered it was
exactly that, long ago. But the glory of the summer were the orioles and the
scarlet tanagers; the orioles with their marvellous notes, and the tanagers in
their scarlet golfing coats glinting here and there in the sunshine. Nests
everywhere, and Tattine on one long voyage of discovery, until she knew where
at least twenty little bird families were going to crack-shell their way into
life. But there was one little family of whose whereabouts she knew nothing,
nor anyone else for that matter, until "Hark, what was that?"--Mabel and
Rudolph and Tattine were running across the end of the porch, and it was
Rudolph who brought them to a standstill.

"It's puppies under the piazza, that's what it is," declared Tattine; "where
ever did they come from, and how ever do you suppose they got there?"

"I think it's a good deal more important to know how you'll ever get them
out," answered Rudolph, who was of a practical turn of mind.

"I'll tell you what," said Tattine thoughtfully, "shouldn't wonder if they
belong to Betsy. I've seen her crowding herself through one of the air-holes
under the piazza several times lately," whereupon the children hurried to peer
through the air hole. Nothing was to be seen, however, for the piazza floor