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Four Little Blossoms on Apple Tree Island by Mabel C. Hawley
page 14 of 112 (12%)
"I'll get you," offered Twaddles gallantly, and he tried to
scramble over the intervening bushes, fortunately all low.

But though low, they were tightly woven, for no underbrush had
been cut from this section of the woods for years. In a moment
Twaddles was pinned as tightly as Dot, a narrow, string-like coil
of vine wrapping securely round his ankles and a sharp stake
thrusting itself slantwise through the sleeve of his sweater.

"Don't wriggle," implored Mother Blossom, as she and Meg and Bobby
came cautiously to the rescue. "I do want these clothes to last
you till it is time to buy Summer ones. Hold still, Dot. There!
Now come and sit in the car and I'll tell you a story till Daddy
comes back."

Bobby had managed to free Twaddles, and the four little Blossoms
climbed into the car and really sat very still--for them--while
Mother Blossom began the story of what she did when she was a
little girl and went away to boarding school for the first time.
The children loved "true" stories, and they listened intently till
Dot spied her father coming down the crooked little path and set
up a shout.

Father Blossom had found a farmer who lived near, and had arranged
with him to bring two strong horses and a heavy rope and see if he
could pull the car from the underbrush. The farmer was a tall,
silent man who seemed not to hear the excited questions of the
four little Blossoms, and never even spoke to Mother Blossom
beyond a quick jerk at his cap when he first saw her sitting in
the car.
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