Betsy was coming down the trail toward the Little House. The moon was fairly high now and it shown full on the erect little figure and the excited sparkling little face. Her dress was soiled and torn. Her hair ribbon had gone and her curls hung helter-skelter about her rosy cheeks. Her great eyes shone like baby moons as her gaze fell on the group running towards her. A trusting smile parted her red lips; showed all her little white mice teeth. “She’s carrying a fawn!” Arthur exclaimed as he neared her. “Why, it can’t be a day old!” Betsy _was_ carrying a fawn. As they surrounded her, she handed it trustfully over into Arthur’s extended hands. “I finded it myself,” she announced proudly. “I ranned and I ranned and I ranned. And it runned and it runned and it runned. But I ranned faster than it runned and pretty soon it was all tired out and I catched it.” This was all of her adventure that they ever got out of Betsy. Conjecture later filled in these meager outlines; that Betsy had been coming home with her doll, Hildegarde, when this stray from the Westabrook preserves crossed her path. Dropping Hildegarde--they found her a few moments later, not far from House Rock--she chased the poor little creature over trails, through bushes, across rocks until she ran him down. Then picking him up in her arms, she found the path by some lucky accident and came home. “Mother of God!” Mrs. Dore said, hugging Betsy again and again, “the child looked like the young St. John coming down the path.” Floribel lifted Betsy in her arms and carried her the rest of the way, a very excited little girl proudly telling her story again and again. “I ranned and I ranned and I ranned,” she kept repeating, “and he runned and he runned and he runned--” The other children tried to help in the process by holding onto dangling legs and arms, by patting the little thickly-curly head and by reaching up to kiss the round rosy cheeks. All except Arthur, who carried the exhausted little fawn. Once home, Betsy was the center of attention for only a moment. She was given her supper; a warm soothing bath and put immediately to bed. Then the fawn took the center of the stage. The capable Arthur found a big basket which he filled with soft cloths; placed the exhausted little creature in it. He _was_ exhausted; for when Arthur first put him on the floor, his legs gave out under him. He spraddled, all four legs flat, on the rug in front of the fireplace--as Rosie said, “exactly like a wet mosquito.” Then Arthur heated some milk; dipped a corner of a handkerchief into it; gave it to the fawn to suck. It was a slow process; for the fawn did not seem to understand this strange method of being fed. At length, Arthur thought of a better scheme. Procuring an eye-dropper from the medicine-chest, he poured the warm fluid, drop by drop, into the little creature’s mouth. All the time the children knelt around the basket in a circle.