“In the meanwhile, of course, I was keeping real busy collecting the eggs of the three-eyelashed Tizzy. They’re quite hard to reach, so I rode on the top of a Ham-ikka-Schnim-ikka-Schnam-ikka Schnoop.”
“What are you doing over there?” asked the dog. “Collecting feathers,” said Lotta. She turned around. “And what are you doing?” The dog squinted in the sun. It was early in the morning. The sun’s rays were slanted and did not give off much warmth. The dog was small and black and thin and very dirty.