The same color as the smiley faces on Mr. McCall’s casabas! I swallowed hard. What’s going on here? I wondered. How could the gnomes’ hands be covered in paint? I’ve got to show someone, I decided. Mom! She’s in the house. She’ll help me figure this out. As I reached our front door, I heard a scraping sound coming from the McCalls’ yard. “Buster! No!” I shouted. Buster circled Mr. McCall’s vegetable patch, his leash dragging behind him. I quickly shoved my hand under my T-shirt and yanked out my dog whistle. I blew it hard. Buster trotted right back to me. “Good boy!” I cried in relief. I shook my finger in his face. I tried to be stern. “Buster, if you don’t want to be tied up, you have to stay out of that garden!” Buster licked my finger with his long, sticky tongue. Then he turned to lick the gnomes. I watched Buster slobber all over them. “Oh, no!” I cried. “Not again!” Chip’s and Hap’s mouths gaped wide open. In the same terrified expressions I had seen before.
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