and when Dot and Twaddles heard him tinkering in the garage, they
ran out to see what he was doing.

"What's the little gate for, Daddy?" asked Twaddles.

"To keep the suitcases on the running board," explained Father
Blossom, busy attaching the "gate" to the car.

"Don't we take a trunk?" Dot wanted to know, managing to tip over
the box of screws.

"We'll ship those by express," explained Father Blossom. "Look
out, Dot, you'll step in that can of grease next. What's that
hanging from you--here, turn around and let me see."

Sure enough, a long strip of white muslin was streaming from under
Dot's petticoat.

"Dear me," exclaimed that small person in surprise, "I guess
that's the petticoat Miss Florence basted a ruffle on. I must have
forgotten to take it off."

"She's calling you now," announced Twaddles. "You go on in. I'll
stay and help Daddy."

"Well, do you know," said Father Blossom respectfully, "while I'm
very much obliged to you, I think there's nothing you can do for
me just at present. Can't you do something for Mother or Norah?"

"Norah's ironing," Twaddles answered disconsolately. "She says I