When Meg and Bobby came in from school they were eager to help, too, and Mother Blossom was glad to have a list of errands to be done in town ready for them.  Somehow, the four little Blossoms filled a house very full at times.

“We’re going a week from Monday,” said Meg, skipping along beside Bobby, while the twins, “counting stones,” followed.

Counting stones was a favorite game of Dot and Twaddles.  Every third one they had to walk around and sometimes it took them a long time to get to the town because there were so many stones to count.

“An’ after Friday we won’t have to go to school,” said Bobby.

“A week from Friday,” corrected Meg.  “I wish we could stay at home all the time like Dot and Twaddles.  Have you Mother’s list, Bobby?”

Bobby had the list in his pocket and there were really a number of things to be done.

“You hold the bag,” Meg directed, “and I’ll buy the things.”

So Bobby held the bag and Meg did the shopping and the twins poked their short, freckled noses into all the boxes and baskets they came to.

The last errand was at the grocery store, and there were three or four people ahead of the four little Blossoms.  Meg waited quietly, and Bobby was interested in watching the big machine that ground coffee, but the irrepressible twins wandered off to investigate the long row of bins with sliding covers that filled one side of the store.

“Now Meg,” said the good-natured young clerk, when he had finished weighing out three pounds of prunes and two and a half pounds of rice for a fussy customer who changed her mind three times before she finally gave her order, “what can I do for you?”

“Mother wants a box of oatmeal, half a pound of mixed tea, and a pound of lump sugar,” announced Meg importantly.

“Right-o!” declared the clerk, taking a long hook pole from the counter and starting for the other side of the store where the package goods were kept on the upper shelves.

Just as he reached the shelves, Meg called to him.

“Oh, Mr. Carroll,” she began, meaning to ask him to bring a box of cornstarch, something Mother had written across the bottom of the list and which Bobby had overlooked when he read the list to Meg.

The clerk turned, his pole upraised, and Dot, who had been hanging over a flour bin nearly empty, slipped.  Her feet flew up, her head went down, and she tripped the grocery clerk.  His long pole crashed into the neat pile of boxes arranged on the shelves and a shower of oatmeal, cornstarch, macaroni and other cereals fell in an avalanche.

“I knew you’d do it,” scolded Bobby, rushing forward, though of course he couldn’t have known that Dot meditated such a catastrophe.  In fact, that small girl was more surprised than any one else.

“I was just a-looking,” she wept, when they pulled her out by her feet and she stood revealed with flour on her face and well rubbed into her dark hair and eyebrows, to say nothing of the hair-ribbon.  “I was just a-looking in.”