“You poor little Bettykins!” sighed Joyce, sympathetically.  “It’s too bad you can’t have the measles all over again with us, here at the house party.  It really isn’t a bit bad now.  I am enjoying it immensely.”

As she spoke there was the sound of a horse’s hoofs in the avenue, and a moment later a shrill whistle sounded under the window.

“Hello, Measles,” shouted a merry voice.

“It’s Rob!” exclaimed Lloyd.  “Hello yourself!” she called back, laughingly.  “Come in and have some, won’t you?”

“No, thank you,” he answered.  “You are too generous.  But I say, Lloyd, let down a basket or something, won’t you?  I’ve got a surprise here for you all.”

“Take the scrap-basket, Betty,” said Lloyd, excitedly pointing to a fancy little basket made of braided sweet grass, and tied with many bows.  “My skipping-rope is in the closet.  You can let it down by that if you tie it to the handles.”

A moment later Betty’s smiling face appeared at the window, and the basket was lowered to the boy on the horse below.

“I can’t reach it without standing up on the saddle,” called Rob.  “Whoa, there, Ben!  Easy, old boy!” With feet wide apart to balance himself, Rob carefully dropped something from the basket he carried on his arm to the one that Betty dangled on a level with his eyes.

“One for you, too, Betty,” the girls heard him say, but he had cantered off down the avenue before they discovered what it was he had left for them.

Betty carefully drew the basket in, fearful lest the rope might slip, for “the surprise” was heavy.  As she landed it safely and turned the basket over on the floor, out rolled four fat little fox-terrier puppies.

“What darlings!” cried Lloyd, springing off her cot to catch up one of the plump little things as it sprawled toward her on its awkward paws.  “They are so much alike we’ll never be able to tell them apart unless we tie different coloured ribbons on them.  I’m going to name mine Bob after Robby, ’cause he gave them to us.”

“Let’s name them all that,” said Betty.  “We’ll be taking them away to different places soon, so it will not make any difference.”  The suggestion was received with applause, and Eugenia sent Eliot to her trunk for a piece of pale green ribbon.  “I’m going to have my Bob’s necktie match my room,” she said.

“We’ll all do that, too,” said Joyce, and in a few minutes the four Bobs were frisking clumsily over the floor, in their respective bows of pink, yellow, blue, and green.  They afforded the girls entertainment all that afternoon, and in the evening there was another surprise.

In the starlight, when it was dark enough for the blinds and shutters to be all thrown open in their rooms, they heard a carriage coming down the avenue.  It, too, stopped under the window, and in a moment they recognised the twang of Malcolm’s banjo and Miss Allison’s guitar.  “It’s a serenade,” called Eugenia.  “What a good alto voice Keith has!”