“He’s there!” cried Mab.

“Here, Roly!  Come here!  Come on, little doggie!” called Hal, thinking, for a moment, that perhaps his pet was barking at a cat, as sometimes Roly did, though he really would not have hurt pussy.

“Why doesn’t he come?” asked Mab, coming to a stop, while her father looked around, trying to see the poodle among the growing things in the garden.

“Maybe he’s caught and can’t come,” suggested Hal.

“Caught how?” asked Mab.

“Well, maybe he’s all tangled up in the bean vines like he was in the morning glories the day he sat down in the fly paper,” Hal answered.

“Oh, Roly!  Are you hurt?” cried Mab.

“Bow-wow!  Ki-yi!” was all the answer the little poodle dog gave, and, though it might have meant a great deal in dog language Mab and Hal could not understand it.  But Roly-Poly was trying to make his friends know that something had happened to him.

“I’ll find him,” said Mr. Blake.  “You children had better stay back there,” and he motioned to them not to come any farther.  Hal and Mab stood still.

“What is it?  What’s the matter?” Mr. Porter, coming from another part of the garden where he had been pulling up some turnips.  “Has anything happened?”

“Something has happened to Roly-Poly,” replied Hal.

“Hear him howl?” inquired Mab.

“I should say I did!” cried Mr. Porter.  “And I guess I know what’s the matter to.  He’s in the trap.”

“In the trap?” cried Hal in surprise.  “What trap?”

Mr. Porter did not answer.  He ran down to where Daddy Blake was poking among the green vines and bushes, trying to find Roly.

“Come on!” exclaimed Hal.  “Let’s go see what it is.”

“Daddy told us to stay here,” said Mab.  “We can’t go.”

Hal knew that, and, much as he wanted to see what was going on, he would not disobey his father.  Mab, too, would have liked to run down where Daddy Blake and Mr. Porter were.

“Bow-wow!  Ki-yi!” barked and howled Roly again, and then the children heard their father and his friend, the man next door, laughing.

“I guess Roly can’t be hurt very much or Daddy wouldn’t laugh,” said Mab.

“I guess not,” agreed Hal.  “I wish we could go see what it is.”

Just then their father came out from among the tall lima beans.  He had Roly in his arms, and the little poodle dog was cuddled up as though he did not want to leave them.

“Is he hurt?” asked Mab.

“A little,” her father answered.

“Where?” Hal wanted to know.

“On his tail.  It was pinched a little in the mole trap, where he was caught fast.  But we got you out; didn’t we Roly-Poly?”

“Bow-wow; Ki-yi!” yelped the poodle.

“Was he in the mole trap?” asked Hal.

“And what is a mole trap?” asked Mab.

“Well, I see I’ll have to tell you more about the garden,” answered Daddy Blake with a laugh, as he gave Roly over to his little girl and boy, who eagerly petted him.  “For the mole is one of the garden pests, and the trap, Mr. Porter set to catch some who were spoiling his things, caught Roly-Poly instead.”