Four little Blossoms at Brookside Farm - Tim And Angi
Four little Blossoms at Brookside Farm - Tim And Angi
Four little Blossoms at Brookside Farm - Tim And Angi
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44 <strong>Four</strong> Little <strong>Blossoms</strong> <strong>at</strong> <strong>Brookside</strong> <strong>Farm</strong><br />
"Twaddles means the soap," giggled Meg.<br />
"You can't smell a b<strong>at</strong>h, silly."<br />
F<strong>at</strong>her Blossom laid down his carving knife<br />
and fork.<br />
"I can't stand th<strong>at</strong>," he declared positively.<br />
"Twaddles, you needn't tell me just handling a<br />
soapy dog is responsible for the whiffs of carbolic<br />
I'm getting. Wh<strong>at</strong> is th<strong>at</strong> in your pocket?"<br />
A dark wet stain was slowly spreading in the<br />
square <strong>little</strong> pocket of the blouse Twaddles<br />
wore.<br />
"I—I saved a piece," he stammered. "I<br />
thought Spotty, Aunt Polly's dog, ought to have<br />
some. It's awful healthy for dogs, Daddy. Sam<br />
says so."<br />
F<strong>at</strong>her Blossom had to laugh.<br />
"I don't doubt it," he admitted. "But th<strong>at</strong>'s<br />
no reason why we should have to smell it. Wrap<br />
it up and put it away if you like for Spotty. <strong>And</strong><br />
then come back and we'll see if we can finish<br />
supper in peace."