they're weeping so you'd better take them some of my pocket
handkerchiefs."

"Too small," said Uncle Steve, scornfully; "one of your little
handkerchiefs would get lost in Dick's eye or Ned's ear. And old
Betsy is weeping for you too. Really, you'll have to get around
soon, or those three horses will run away, I fear."

"What about the cow; does she miss me?" asked Marjorie, gravely,
though her eyes were twinkling.

"The cow!" exclaimed Uncle Steve. "She stands by the fence with
her head on the top rail, and moos so loud that I should think you
could hear her yourself. She calls 'Mopsy, Mopsy, Moo,' from
morning till night. And the chickens! Well, the incubator is full
of desolate chickens. They won't eat their meal, and they just
peep mournfully, and stretch their little wings trying to fly to
you."

"And the dogs?" prompted Marjorie.

"Oh, the dogs--they howl and yowl and growl all the time. I think
I'll have to bring the whole crowd of animals up here. They're so
anxious to see you."

"Do, Uncle Steve. I'd be glad to see them, and I'm sure they'd
behave nicely."

"I think so. The cow could sit in that little rocking-chair, and
the three horses could sit on the couch, side by side. And then we