“How sweet it is,” Rosie who adored animals, kept saying. “Look at its big eyes and its beautiful head!” “I’d love to take it in my arms,” Maida exclaimed, again and again, “only I know I would frighten it to death. See how it trembles if we get too near!” The little children, who had been allowed one glimpse of the deer, went up-stairs chattering like little magpies. Betsy, tired with her long hunting, had fallen asleep the instant she struck the pillow. But the rest were in such a high state of excitement that it was almost an hour before the last of them calmed down. It was not easy that night to drive the Big Six to bed. When the denizens of the Little House waked the next morning, their tiny forest guest was lying in his basket, bright-eyed as usual. For an hour after his breakfast and theirs, they hovered about him making all kinds of plans in regard to his future. But these dreams were rudely shattered when Mrs. Dore informed them that she had told Mr. Westabrook, over the telephone, the whole episode and that he was sending a man that day to bring the deer back to the Big House. “Oh I don’t see why we have to give him up!” Maida declared in heart-broken accents. “What fun it would be to have a deer all our own and watch him grow. Just think when his horns came!” “Oh, Maida!” Rosie begged, “do call your father up and tease him to let us keep him. Just think of having a baby fawn running about the house.” Both the Sixes, Little and Big, added their entreaties to Rosie’s. “I don’t think it would be any use, Maida,” Mrs. Dore quietly interrupted. “Your father said if by chance any stranger brought a dog here, he would kill the little fawn the moment he caught him. And then when the fawn himself grew bigger, and developed horns, he might even be dangerous. Besides Betsy,” as Betsy burst into loud wails of, “I finded him myself. I ranned and I ranned and I ranned--” “Mr. Westabrook said he would send you something nice to take the fawn’s place.” “But the fawn’s alive,” Rosie expostulated in a grieved tone. “And nothing can be as nice as a live creature.” “He said this would be alive too,” Mrs. Dore comforted her. “Oh _what_?” Rosie asked. Mrs. Dore’s eyes danced. “It’s a surprise. I’m not to tell it.” Only half appeased, the children hung around the house, waiting to see what the _live_ thing was. In the middle of the morning, a run-about drew up in front of the Little House and one of Mr. Westabrook’s men alighted from it. He was wearing a long loose coat, but he had nothing in his arms. He took the little fawn, basket and all, and placed it in the run-about. The children tagged his every movement, followed with their eyes his every motion. After the fawn was safely installed on the seat beside him, he turned on the engine. Betsy burst into tears. “Oh that’s the little girl,” the man exclaimed, as though suddenly remembering something, “who found the fawn, isn’t it?”