“Dot!  Dot!” called Norah.  “Your mother says you should come right away.”

Dot scuttled for the house, and Twaddles, delighted with the idea of helping his father, ran to find the basket.  Dot was securely pinned into her new frock when he came panting upstairs, and she implored him to wait until she could help pack, too.  Twaddles generously consented, and Mother Blossom warned them not to touch anything except the one desk drawer.  They promised, and when Dot had resumed her old dress, without the basted petticoat, they earnestly set to work.

“What a lot of stuff!” exclaimed Dot, turning over a rusty bolt curiously.  “What’s this for, Twaddles?”

“I don’t know,” said Twaddles.  “Don’t putter, Dot.  Mother says the way to get a job done is to work steadily.”

Thus admonished, Dot put both her hands in and brought up a quantity of old papers mixed with bits of string, little ends of sealing wax and many other things she would have liked to stop and examine if Twaddles had not been the foreman.

There was a good deal of dust and loose dirt in the drawer, which had been waiting for Father Blossom to put in order for months, and Twaddles, who was really a neat little workman, brought a newspaper, after they had the drawer cleared out, and spread it on the floor.  Then he tipped the empty drawer over this and all the dirt and dust was caught on the paper.

“Now that’s done,” he announced with satisfaction, folding up the paper and stuffing it on top of the already full basket.  “I’ll put the drawer back and then I’ll carry the basket down to the cellar.”

“Daddy said he’d take it,” objected Dot.

“But he’ll be glad to find I’ve done it,” said Twaddles confidently.  “Look out, Dot—­push that paper down.  Gee! it is kind of heavy.”

He staggered off toward the stairway, the basket in his arms.  He had filled it so full that he could not see over the top and, just as he reached the head of the stairs, his foot caught in a rug.  The basket pitched forward, but Twaddles caught the banister rail and saved himself from falling.

“Glory be!” Loud rose the wail of Norah, who was in the lower hall on her way upstairs with a pile of clean sheets.  “Glory be, what’s all this dirt raining on my clean front stairs!”

CHAPTER VI

ERRANDS IN TOWN

Well, accidents will happen, and after all no one scolded very much.  To be sure, the dust and dirt and screws and rusty bolts and little pieces of paper were pretty thoroughly scattered about the hall and on the stairs, but Twaddles and Dot worked like beavers to pick them up.  And Norah was so glad that Twaddles had not tumbled with the basket that she did not grumble at having to brush the stairs down for the second time that day.  Father Blossom understood that Twaddles was trying to surprise him, so he did not scold when he came in from the garage and heard what had happened.  And, really, Annabel Lee was the most injured.  Not only were her nerves startled by the racket (she had been curled up asleep on the newel post, a favorite resting place of hers) but a long nail had rapped her smartly on the sensitive tip of her cat nose.  Annabel Lee found it hard to forgive Twaddles for that performance.