So there was a story connected with this island which had such a pretty name!  No wonder the four little Blossoms thought it must be a wonderful place.  They were so anxious to be off that it seemed to them they simply could not be patient for two long weeks.

“But school doesn’t close—­not until the middle of May!” Meg voiced this distressing thought when she and Bobby were at the Oak Hill school door.  “Oh, Bobby, wouldn’t it be awful if every one went to Apple Tree Island except us!”

Bobby insisted that such a dreadful thing wasn’t to be thought of, but the idea troubled him all through the morning session.  At noon, for he and Meg went home to lunch, he asked Mother Blossom whether she thought he and Meg would be left out of the island plan because of the fact that school would still be in session when the Blossoms started.

“Why, my dear little son, what a notion!” cried Mother Blossom, kissing him warmly.  “As if we could be happy two seconds without you and Meg!  Daddy and I talked it over, and we decided, before I told you children of the plan, that if we had to go before school closed it wouldn’t be such a serious matter, because you both have had excellent reports and the last school month is given over to review work.  If you and Meg have been attentive throughout the term, and Miss Mason says you have, you can afford to miss a few weeks.”

Bobby was immensely relieved and looked over at Meg to see if she did not share his pleasure.  Meg, however, was scowling at Twaddles, who seemed decidedly uncomfortable.

“Mother!” Meg had been waiting for her mother’s attention.  “Mother, you ought to see what Twaddles did to me this morning.”

Bobby suddenly snickered.

“Oh, Mother,” he giggled, “it was the funniest thing you ever saw!  It hopped right across Bertrand Ashe’s foot and Meg went to pick it up and it went, plop! into Palmer Davis’s inkwell.  Miss Mason thought Meg did it on purpose.”

“What hopped?” asked Mother Blossom, mystified.  “And Meg, why are you frowning so at poor Twaddles?”

“He knows, all right,” declared Meg wrathfully.  “He put that jumping grasshopper Aunt Polly sent him in my middy blouse pocket.  And it mortified me very much, Mother.”

“I don’t doubt it, Daughter,” said Mother Blossom sympathetically.  “Twaddles, I think that was rather a mean trick.”

“Paid her up for calling me silly,” muttered Twaddles, his face scarlet.

“It was funny, though,” insisted Bobby smiling.

Meg tried not to laugh and then she gave in.

“Yes, it was,” she admitted, dimpling.  “The ink splashed all over, Mother, and when Miss Mason made Palmer take it out it gave another jump and landed way over on the window seat.”

“Miss Mason has it now,” said Bobby.  “She wouldn’t give it back.”

“But it’s mine,” wailed Twaddles.  “I want it to play with.  Make Meg get it, won’t you, Mother?”