The toys woke him up, for they felt that some one had to be blamed for the whole affair.
“Why didn’t you stop Murrum?” they scolded. “You ought to have called us. You should have told some one!”
“I told the Money-Pig!”
“You didn’t!” the Money-Pig shouted, and immediately closed his eyes again and groaned.
Certainly something had given him indigestion. But the other toys were too worried to pay any attention to his troubles.
“You’ll catch it when Poor Cecco comes back!” said Harlequin darkly. And the Engine and Anna and the dolls all cried: “Yes, it’s all your fault!”
That didn’t frighten the Easter Chicken. All he cared about was rescuing Tubby, but the only thing he could do was to hop up and down and flap his wings.
“Didn’t you even see which way he went?” the Lion asked.
“He went through the kitchen window. The Money-Pig saw him.”
“If you say that again,” bellowed the Money-Pig, “I shall certainly beat you! Some one give me a penny; I am going to be ill!”
“It’s all the Easter Chicken’s fault!” they shouted in chorus.
In the very midst of this confusion, there was heard the shrill toot of a horn, and a loud ring at the door-bell. Some one must be arriving in style! And while they won-
