Just then the door flew open, and Johnnie rushed in, two years taller,
but otherwise looking exactly as she used to do.

"Oh, Katy!" she gasped, "won't you please tell Philly not to wash the
chickens in the rain-water tub? He's put in every one of Speckle's, and
is just beginning on Dame Durden's. I'm afraid one little yellow one is
dead already--"

"Why, he mustn't--of course he mustn't!" said Katy; "what made him think
of such a thing?"

"He says they're dirty, because they've just come out of egg-shells! And
he insists that the yellow on them is yolk-of-egg. I told him it wasn't,
but he wouldn't listen to me." And Johnnie wrung her hands.

"Clover!" cried Katy, "won't you run down and ask Philly to come up to
me? Speak pleasantly, you know!"

"I spoke pleasantly--real pleasantly, but it wasn't any use," said
Johnnie, on whom the wrongs of the chicks had evidently made a deep
impression.

"What a mischief Phil is getting to be!" said Elsie. "Papa says his name
ought to be Pickle."

"Pickles turn out very nice sometimes, you know," replied Katy,
laughing.

Pretty soon Philly came up, escorted by Clover. He looked a little
defiant, but Katy understood how to manage him. She lifted him into her