“But I saw it kicking and scratching Ernest, and putting its head way out,” said Gladys doubtfully, “and I don’t like to hold it because it might put out all its legs and things again.”

Faith laughed.  “It only has four legs and a cunning little tail; and we know how to hold it so it can’t scratch us, anyway; but it won’t put out its head again until it thinks we’ve gone away, because this is an old one.  See, the shell covers my hand all over.  The littler ones are livelier and more willing to put out their heads.  I don’t believe we’ve had this one before, Ernest,” added Faith, examining the creature.  “We nearly always use the big ones for horses,” she explained, “and then there’s a gimlet hole through the shell.”

“Who would do that?” exclaimed Gladys, drawing back.

“Ernest.  Why!” observing her cousin’s look of horror.  “It doesn’t hurt them.  We wouldn’t hurt them for anything.  We just love them, and if they weren’t geese they’d love us, too.”

“Use them for horses?  What do you mean?”

“Why, they draw my smallest dolls in lovely chariots.”

“Oh,” returned Gladys.  This sounded mysterious and interesting.  She even took the clean, compact shell into her hands for a minute before Faith gathered up her dress skirt and dropped the turtle into it, the three proceeding along the brook side, taking up their watch again.

The warm, sunny day brought the turtles out, and the next one they saw was not larger than the palm of Ernest’s hand.  It was swimming leisurely with the current.

They all three saw it at once, but quick as Faith was, the lively little creature was quicker.  As she and Ernest both darted upon it, it scrambled for her side and burrowed swiftly under the bank.  This was the best stronghold for the turtle, and the children knew it.

“I just can’t lose him, I can’t!” cried Faith, and Gladys wondered at the fearless energy with which she dived her hand into the mud, feeling around, unmindful which portion of the little animal she grasped if she only caught him; and catch him she did.  With a squeal of delight she pulled out the turtle, who continued to swim vigorously, even when in mid air.

“He’s splendid and lively!” exclaimed Faith.  “You can see him go on the grass, Gladys,” and the little girl put the creature down, heading him away from the brook, and he made good time, thinking he was getting away from his captor.  “You see, Ernest harnesses them to a little pasteboard box, and I put in my smallest dolls and we have more fun;” but by this time the turtle realized that he was traveling inland, and turned around suddenly in the opposite direction.

“No, no, pet!” cried Faith gayly.  “Not yet,” and she picked up the lively one.  “See, you hold them this way;” she held the shell between her thumb and middle finger and the sharp little claws sawed the air in vain.  “There, cunning,” she added, looking into the turtle’s bright eyes, “go see your auntie or uncle, or whoever it is,” and she put it into her dress with the other one, and they walked on.