Brighteyes Pigg had finished doing the dishes, and had put on her clean dress, her new tan shoes, which matched her brown and white fur, and her hair was tied with a pink ribbon—you know the kind—the ones that stick out so with a bow on each side. Well, she looked just too nice for anything, and she asked her mother:

"May I go out and take a walk?"

"Yes," replied Mrs. Pigg. "Where are you going? Is Buddy going with you?"

"No, he has gone off to play ball again. I guess he thinks the fish hawk will catch up the ball once more and help him to make a home run. No, I'm not going with Buddy. I thought I'd go over and see Sister Sallie, I haven't called on her in some time."

"Very well," said Mrs. Pigg, and Dr. Pigg called to his little girl:

"Give my regards to Mr. Bushytail, and tell him that if he sees Uncle Wiggily Longears to mention that I have a new cure for rheumatism, that I will send him."

"I'll be sure to tell him," said Brighteyes Pigg. "Poor Uncle Wiggily, his rheumatism bothers him a great deal." Well, she went on through the woods to see Sister Sallie, who, I hope you remember, was the little sister that Billie and Johnnie Bushytail, the two boy squirrels, once found at the foot of the tree where their nest was.

Brighteyes found Sister Sallie just finishing helping Mrs. Bushytail do up the housework, and Sister Sallie was singing:

"Can you come out and play?" asked Brighteyes.

"Indeed I can," replied the little squirrel. "Shall I bring my doll?"

"Yes, but I haven't any," answered the little guinea pig girl, as Sallie brought out the corncob doll, that her brothers and Grandma Lightfoot had made for her.

"Never mind, I'll help you make one," promised Sister Sallie, so the two little friends walked on through the woods.

"What will you make my doll of?" asked Brighteyes.

"I don't just know yet," said Sallie. "I will look around for something." So she looked first on one side of the woodland path, and then on the other, and Brighteyes did the same, but they couldn't seem to find anything out of which to make a doll.

Then, all at once, oh, I guess in about two wiggles and a wag, if Sallie didn't see a nice, long, smooth, yellow carrot.

"That will make a fine doll!" she cried. "We will use some cornsilk for hair, and some little stones for the eyes, nose and mouth, and for dresses——"

"Well, what will we make dresses from?" asked Brighteyes, for she noticed that Sister Sallie was at a loss what to say.

"Oh, I know—leaves," cried the little squirrel. "We will pretend that green is fashionable for ladies with a sort of carroty complexion," and she laughed, and so did Brighteyes, whose nose twinkled just like the diamond in mother's ring, or baby's eyes, when he is happy.

So the two little friends sat down on a grassy bank, in the shade of an oak tree, and they made the carrot doll. Oh, it was such fun!

First they stuck two little pebbles in for eyes, and they looked as real as anything; then they stuck a little larger stone in the carrot for a nose, and then Brighteyes found a nice, long stone, sort of curled up around the ends, and when that was put in the carrot, just beneath the nose, why it looked exactly as if that carrot doll was smiling as hard as she could smile; she was so happy, I s'pose.

"Now for some dresses!" exclaimed Sister Sallie, who had put her own corncob doll under some grass to sleep. So they got some beautiful green leaves from the tree, and fastened them together with grass and needles from the pine tree, and they made the nicest dresses you ever saw.

Let me see, there was one made in princess style, and one empire gown, and one that had a pull-back in the skirt, and one was a tub dress, whatever that is, and there was a crepe de chine and a basque and peau de soie effect and—and—er—well, I know you'll excuse me from mentioning any others, as I don't know very much about dresses; it took me quite a while to look those up, and I must get on with the story.

Well, when they had the dresses all made they tried them on the carrot doll, and they fitted perfectly, believe me, they did!

"Oh, isn't this lovely," cried Brighteyes. "Now let's play house," so they played house, and each one had a room, there on the grass, with sticks and stones for furniture, and they put the dollies to bed, and woke them up, and took them for a walk, and they made believe wash dishes and get meals, and, oh, I don't know what they didn't do.

But, all of a sudden, just as they were putting their dolls to sleep, they heard a sort of growling in the bushes, and a big, shaggy, yellow dog, with glaring eyes, jumped out at them! Oh, how frightened Brighteyes and Sister Sallie were!

"What are you doing on my nice, green grass?" growled the dog, real savage-like.

"If you please, Mr. Dog, we didn't know this was your grass," said Sister Sallie, timidly.

"Of course it is!" snapped the dog. "I go to sleep here on it every day. Anyway what do you mean by taking the leaves off my trees?" he growled again.

"If you please, kind sir," spoke Brighteyes, "we didn't know they were your trees."

"Certainly they are," replied the dog, snapping his eyes open and shut. "Those leaves keep the sun off me while I sleep. Now I'm going to eat you all up for taking my things!" and he jumped right at them.

But land sakes, flopsy dub! Before he could bite either Brighteyes or Sister Sallie, who should appear, but Percival, the good, old circus dog.

"Here, you let my friends alone!" he barked, and he jumped on that bad dog, and nipped both his ears well, let me tell you. Then the bad dog ran away, howling, and Percival took care of Sister Sallie and Brighteyes until it was time for them to go home. Now in the story after this one I'm going to tell you about Dr. Pigg and Uncle Wiggily—that is if my furnace fire doesn't go out in the street roller-skating with the coal man.