So Curly put on his warm checker-pattern coat and stuck his paws in little red mittens, for it was quite cold that morning, and off he went to school.

But his brother, who had to stay home because he was not vaccinated, looked out in the yard, and pretty soon he said: 

“Oh, I guess I’ll go out and take a walk.  Maybe I can find something or have an adventure.”

So out Flop walked in the yard, and pretty soon, in a little while, not so very long, he came to a place where there was something that looked like a black stone with yellow marks on it.

“That’s just what I’m looking for,” said Flop, as he saw the queer stone.  “I heard my mamma saying the other day that she needed some weight to keep the kitchen door from blowing shut.  This stone will be the very thing for her.”

So over he ran to where he saw the thing that looked like a stone, and he picked it up, no matter if it was cold.  For there was frost on the ground—­white frost that made everything look as though a little shower of snow had fallen—­and everything was cold and frozen.

Into the house ran Flop, the little piggie boy, carrying his black stone, all streaked with yellow.

“Oh, see what I have found for you, mamma!” he exclaimed.  “It will keep the kitchen door from blowing shut.”

“So it will,” said his mamma.  “What a kind boy you are.”  So she took the stone and placed it where it would keep the kitchen door from slamming, and going shut, and then she made a custard pie so that Curly could have some when he came home from school.

Pretty soon the pie was done, and Flop was almost asleep in the nice warm kitchen waiting for his piece.  His mamma suddenly called to him: 

“Flop, will you watch the pie for a minute while I run across the street and borrow a yeast cake from Mrs. Wibblewobble, the duck lady?”

“Yes, of course I will,” said Flop, rubbing his sleepy eyes.  Then he looked all around the kitchen, and on the table where it was cooling he saw the nice pies his mamma had made, and he thought how good a piece would be, and then he also saw something else.

Into the kitchen came creeping a bad old egg dog—­the same one who had tried to get the eggs from Curly a few days before.

“Pies!” cried the bad egg dog!  “Custard pies!  How I love ’em!  Yum-yum!” and with that he made a jump and he was just going to eat the lovely custard pie Mrs. Twistytail had made when Flop said: 

“Here, you let that pie alone, if you please.  It isn’t yours.  It’s my mamma’s.”

“No matter!” growled the bad egg dog.  “I will eat it anyhow, and you can’t stop me!”

And with that he started to throw Flop out of the window, but the little piggie boy cried: 

“Oh, what shall I do?  Will no one help me?”

“Yes, of course.  I will!” answered a voice, and then that queer object, which Flop had thought was a stone, began to move.  Out of a shell came a long neck, and a head with a sharp mouth on the end, and out came four sharp claws, and instead of a stone there was a mud turtle as large as life.  Really there was, I’m not fooling a bit!