They were having a good time in that room. The rocking-horse had been hitched to the little wagon, and Jumping Jack was driver; Miss Francaise had climbed into the wagon, and was sitting there as gracefully as she could, trying to hold her head steady; she had the pasteboard dog for a lap-dog, while Peg and Lyd sprawled on the wagon-bottom, and Minx stood upon the horse's back like a circus-rider. And so they went tearing around the room in fine style, Spot racing with them and wagging his tail till it looked like a fan. Ned fairly shouted in his cage, and the chicken jumped on a chair and tried his best to crow. After a while, Spot grabbed up a piece of paper from one corner, and began to worry it. The fine Francaise saw that and tumbled out of the wagon in a minute, as if she were only a very quick-tempered little girl. She snatched the paper away from Spot and snapped out: "You sha'n't spoil that! It's Scrubby's letter!" The horse had stopped now, Jumping Jack jerked himself up to the astonished dog, and said, very severely: "Spot, aint you ashamed to worry anything that belongs to our Scrubby? I'll put you out if there's any more of it." "It's too bad, so it is," said Peg. Lyd began to cry with her one eye, while Ned stopped laughing and went to scolding; the chicken put his claw before his face, as if ashamed of such a dog, and even the horse shook his head. Poor Spot was under a cloud. "I didn't know it was anything Scrubby cared for, and I don't believe it is, either," he snapped. "I saw Scrubby write it," said Minx, "and she stuck the pencil in my ear when she'd finished." "She was sitting on us when she wrote it," said Peg and Lyd together. "Yes, and she held me on her lap and read it to me when it was done," put in Francaise. "Of course it's her letter," spoke up the rocking-horse. "Don't you remember, Fran, she hitched it to my bridle and told you to ride right off and give it to old Kriss when he came around?" "You're a nice crowd!" growled Spot. "Every one of you knew all about this, and left it kicking around on the floor! You _are_ a nice crowd! I'll take charge of it myself now, and see that old Kriss gets it. He can't read it, of course. Nobody could read that; but it shows how much _you_ all think of Scrubby." Spot had the best of it now; but the French lady spoke up in a way that put the others in good spirits right off, and made honest Spot feel as if he had been sat down upon. "Perhaps some people can read, if you cant," she said, "_I_ can read that letter for you, and for old Kriss too, if he wants me to." She could not read a word, but she opened out the scribbled sheet in fine style, and just repeated what she had heard Scrubby say. And this is what Scrubby tried to put in the letter: