was not more than a foot and a half from the ground, and it was filled with
all sorts of weeds that flourished without sunshine. Still the little puppy
cries were persistently wafted out from some remote corner, and, pulling off
his jacket, Rudolph started to crawl in and investigate. It did not seem
possible that he could make his way, for the place was not high enough for him
even to crawl on his hands and knees, and he had rather to worm himself along
on his elbows in quite indescribable fashion. Still, Tattine and Mabel were
more than ready to have him try, and waited patiently, bending over with their
hands upon their knees, and gazing in through the weed-grown hole in
breathless, excited fashion.

"I believe I'll have to give it up," Rudolph called back; "the cries seem as
far off as ever and I'm all but scratched to pieces." "Oh, don't! don't!"
cried Tattine and Mabel, in one breath, and Mabel added, "We MUST know what
they are and where they are. I shall go in myself if you come out."

"Well, you wouldn't go more than three feet then, I can tell you," and Rudolph
was right about that. It was only because he hated to give the thing up, even
more than the girls hated to have him, that made him persevere. "Well, here
they are at last!" he cried exultingly, a few moments later; "one, two three,
four of them, perfect little beauties too. And they must belong to Betsy;
they're just like her."

"Bring one out, bring one out!" called both the children, and fairly dancing
with delight.

"Bring out your grandmother! It's all I can manage to bring myself out,
without holding on to a puppy."

"Very well," Tattine called back, with her usual instant acceptance of the