night. And here's a blanket, so you won't catch cold."
Wrapping herself in another blanket—Aunt Polly kept two light-weight blankets folded at the foot of each bed for chilly nights—Meg tiptoed carefully downstairs after Bobby. They knew their way about the house now, even in the dark. The front door was not locked, for people in the country seldom lock their doors.
"Why, Bobby!" Meg called softly. "Look! There's a lot of 'em! See! All down the drive! They can't be Mr.Simmonds' bull"
"Well, not all of 'em," snickered Bobby. "There's only one of him. Come on, Meg, I'm going up to one and see what it is."
"Why, it's a calf!" cried Meg, in astonishment. "A darling baby calf! They all are! How many are there, Bobby?"
"I can count fourteen," said Bobby after a moment, for the night was not pitch black, but one of those soft summer nights with so many stars that after your eyes are accustomed to it you can see objects distinctly enough to count.
"Somebody's left their barnyard gate open,"
