rom the plane
of sentiment to the prosaic levels, "for she'll throw you if she can."

And while Peggy was making an effort to eat the breakfast the farmer's
wife insisted on her sharing, a clatter of hoofs under the window told
of Jerry's departure.

CHAPTER XX

HOME SWEET HOME

"Joy cometh in the morning." At Dolittle Cottage white-faced,
sad-hearted girls had crept up-stairs to bed, and some of them had slept
and waked moaning, and others had lain wide-eyed and still through the
long hours, thankful for the relief of tears which now and then ran down
their hot cheeks and wet their pillows. But when the dawn came, nature
had its way, and the last watcher fell into the heavy sleep of
exhaustion.

Apparently they all waked at once. Down-stairs was a clamor of uplifted
voices, strange, choking cries, sounds that almost made the heart stop
beating. And then above the tumult, a shrill fretful pipe that to the
strained ears of the listeners was the sweetest of all sweet music.

"Make Hobo stop, Aunt Peggy. He's a-tickling me with his tongue."

Pandemonium reigned in Dolittle Cottage. There was a wild rush of
white-robed figures for the hall, just as a girl in a dress that had
once been white, and with dark circles under her eyes, came flying up
the stairs. Peggy forgot her aching limbs and weariness in the transport
of that moment. And then there was a little time of silence, broken only
by the sound of happy sobbing, and everybody was kissing everybody else,
without assigning any especial reason, and laughing through glad tears.

The appearance of Mrs. Cole, with Dorothy in her arms, was the signal
for another outbreak, and perhaps Dorothy's manifest ill-humor was
fortunate on the whole, for something of the sort was needed to bring
the excited household down to the wholesome plane of every-day living.
Camping out did not agree with Dorothy. She had caught a slight cold
from her wetting, and her night's rest had been far from satisfactory.
And now to be seized and passed from hand to hand like a box of candy,
while people kissed and cried over her, was too much for her long-tried
temper. She screamed and struggled and finally put a stop to further
affectionate demonstrations by slapping Amy with one hand, while with
the other she knocked off Aunt Abigail's spectacles.

"She's tired to death, poor little angel," cried Mrs. Cole, generously
ignoring the fact that Dorothy's conduct was the reverse of angelic.