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from home!” exclaimed Mrs. Bean. “Well, you come right in the house and have something to eat, and then you can tell me all about it.”
    While Adoniram was inside telling his story, the animals went back to their work, for when anyone returned from a trip he always gave a lecture on his travels that night in the big barn, and they knew they would hear all about it then. Freddy and Jinx took Ronald down to the chicken house and introduced him to Charles, the rooster, and his wife, Henrietta, and saw that he was assigned to a perch. And they introduced Georgie to Jock, the collie, and saw that he was taken care of. And then they walked down to Freddy’s study, to arrange their picture postcards and make some notes for their lecture that evening.
    Freddy’s study was a comfortable little room that he had fixed up in a corner of the pigpen. Here were all his books and papers, and his typewriter, and an old easy chair that he could sit in when he wanted to think, or take a nap, or both. They slipped off their pockets and piled them on the floor, and Jinx jumped up on the typewriter table, while Freddy threw himself into the chair, out of which a cloud of dust rose that set the cat sneezing.
    â€œThis place gets worse and worse,” said Jinx. “You haven’t house-cleaned since you moved in here, I bet.”
    â€œI know,” said the pig, “but I don’t want to do it myself, and I hate to get the squirrels to do it. Nosey little brutes, poking among my papers. They’d mix everything up, and probably lose half of ’em—”
    â€œNo great loss, I should say,” remarked Jinx, looking over a heap of magazines and clippings piled beside him. “H’m. Cross-word puzzles. Old St. Nicholas with half the leaves torn out. Recipe for pumpkin pie—what use is that to you, I’d like to know?… ‘How to make your own lipstick at home’—ha ha! Freddy you slay me!… And here’s a piece about that mechanical man they had at the circus last year. ‘Walks, talks, plays games.’ With a plan of how he’s put together.… And an ‘Ode to Spring,’ from the Centerboro Guardian. Listen to this, Freddy. This is rich!
    O spring, O spring,
    You wonderful thing
    O spring, O spring, O spring!
    O spring, O spring,
    When the birdies sing
    I feel like a king,
    O spring!
    Six verses of it—golly, what stuff! And signed ‘Shakespeare, Jr.’ Can you beat that? Boy, how he fancies himself!—Why, what’s the matter, Freddy?”
    For Freddy had turned slightly red and was frowning at his friend. He didn’t have a very good frown, because he was pretty fat, and when he drew his eyebrows down, they just closed his eyes and he looked as if he was asleep. But Jinx knew what it meant.
    â€œOh, I’m sorry, Freddy, if I’ve hurt your feelings. Did you—was this something you wrote?”
    â€œIt’s the first poem I ever wrote,” said Freddy stiffly. “Naturally, I don’t think now it’s a masterpiece, but it showed enough promise for the Guardian to print it. And as to the—” He broke off suddenly as a queer jangling of chimes and little bells drifted in through the open window. “What on earth—!”
    The two animals dashed out. The sounds came from the big barn, but by the time they reached the door everything was quiet again. Inside they could see Hank, the old white horse, munching away peacefully at his hay.
    â€œWhat’s the row, Hank?” Jinx asked.
    Hank turned his head. He looked a little like Mr. Bean with the hay sticking out of his mouth in all directions. Then his voice came through the hay, saying something that they couldn’t understand.
    â€œWhat?” said Jinx. “I wish you wouldn’t talk with your mouth full.”
    Hank swallowed with an effort, coughed, and said: “Sorry, boys. What row you mean? I ain’t heard any