crawled.

"I got it! I got it!" cried Margy, as she sat down on the sidewalk in
front of the fruit stand.

The kitten was a soft, furry one, but it was rather mussed and
bedraggled now, from the way Margy had mauled it. And the little Bunker
girl was rather tousled herself, for there was not much room underneath
the stand where she had crawled.

"Oh, my dear Margy!" cried Mrs. Bunker. "You are such a sight!"

"But I got my kittie!" said the little girl.

By this time quite a crowd had gathered around the six little Bunkers
and their father and mother. Margy still sat on the sidewalk, with the
kitten in her lap, petting and rubbing it.

"Come! We must hurry!" exclaimed Mr. Bunker. "We may miss the boat. Get
up, Margy. Rose, you help your mother dust Margy off, and then we must
hurry."

"Can't I take the kittie?" asked the little girl.

"No, dear," answered her mother. "It isn't yours. And besides, we never
could take it to Cousin Tom's with us. Put it down, Margy, my dear!"

"Oh, oh, I don't want to!" cried the little girl, and real tears came
into her eyes. "I got this kittie out of a dark corner, and it loves me
and I love it! I want it."