concluded.

"Of course not," said the smallest girl. "Why should he? Aren't we just
as nice to him as we can be? And he sleeps in the kitchen when it's
cold, for Mrs. MacCall says he's too old to take his chances out of
doors these sharp nights."

"That's very thoughtful of your Mrs. MacCall, I do allow," agreed the
jolly invalid. "And do you suppose she will get your doll's cloak done
in time for your call on Mrs. Eland?"

"My Alice-doll's cloak? I do hope so," said Dot, with a sigh of anxiety.

"Wouldn't you go to call on the lady without her, if the cloak shouldn't
be done?" asked the farmer's wife, much amused.

"Oh, no! I couldn't do that," said Dot, gravely. "You see, I promised
her."

"Who, Mrs. Eland?"

"No, ma'am. My Alice-doll. I told her she should go with us. You see,"
said the smallest Corner House girl, "she was with us when we made the
acquaintance of Mrs. Eland--Tess and me. And my Alice-doll liked her
just as well as Tess and me. So there you are!"

"I see," agreed Mrs. Buckham, quite seriously. "You couldn't disappoint
the child."

"Oh, no indeed!" said Dot. "I wouldn't want to! You see--she's not very
strong. She hasn't been since that time she was buried alive."

"Buried alive!" gasped the lady in horror and surprise.

"Yes, ma'am. With the dried apples."

"Buried with dried apples?" repeated Mrs. Buckham, her wonder growing.
"What for?"

"It was a most awful cat's-triumph," said Dot, shaking her head, and
very, very solemn, "and it makes my Alice-doll very nervous even to hear
it talked about. If she were here I wouldn't mention it----"

"What? _What_ did you say, child?" gasped Mrs. Buckham. "About a cat, I
mean, my dear?"

"She means 'catastrophe,'" said Tess, coming to the rescue. "I really
wish, Dot Kenway, that you wouldn't use words that you can't use!"

Mrs. Buckham's mellow laughter rang out and she hugged the smallest
Corner House girl close to her side.

"Never mind, honey," she said. "If you want to make up a new word, you
shall--so there!"

Meanwhile Agnes had followed the farmer out into the big kitchen. The
old man sat in a low chair and pulled Tom Jonah tenderly between his
huge knees, till the dog laid his muzzle in his lap, looking up at the
man confidingly out of his big, brown eyes.

Mr. Buckham had put on a pair of silver-bowed spectacles and had the
salve-box in his hand. He laid the badly torn ear carefully upon his
knee and began to apply the salve wit