"Yes, and isn't it funny that they can rhyme so well, too?"

"It is, indeed. I always said those Plymouth Rocks were the
smartest chickens of all, but I never suspected they could write
poetry."

"And now, Uncle, I've only one left." Marjorie looked regretfully
at the last letter, wishing there were a dozen more. "But I can
keep them and read them over and over again, I like them so much.
I'd answer them, but I don't believe those animals read as well as
they write."

"No," said Uncle Steve, wagging his head sagely, "I don't believe
they do. Well, read your last one, Mops, and let's see who wrote
it."

"Why, Uncle, it's from the dogs! It's signed 'Nero and Tray and
Rover'! Weren't they just darling to write to me! I believe I miss
the dogs more than anything else, because I can have Puffy up here
with me."

Marjorie paused long enough to cuddle the little heap of grey fur
that lay on the counterpane beside her, and then proceeded to read
the letter:

"Dear Mopsy Midget,
We're in a fidget,
Because we cannot find you;
We want to know