"I know enough now," grumbled Bobby one morning, scowling at his oatmeal.

"We could stay at home and play with the animal bags," said Meg, who never tired of trying on the muslin cases that so quickly transformed them into different animals. "It's really snowing ever so hard, Mother."

"Not half as hard as it often has when you have plowed cheerfully through it," Mother Blossom reminded her. "Come, Bobby, finish your oatmeal. Norah has your lunches packed."

Dot and Twaddles stared at the two older children in astonishment. They wanted to go to school with all their hearts, and the idea that any one could tire of that magical place, where chalk and blackboards and goldfish and geography globes mingled in riotous profusion, had never entered their busy minds.

"It's an awful long walk," mourned Bobby.

"I'll take you in the car," said Father Blossom quickly. "Hurry now, and get your things on. I think there's been too much staying up till nine o'clock lately, Mother."

"I think so, too," agreed Mother Blossom. "We'll go back to eight o'clock bedtime beginning with to-night. What is it, Dot?"

"Can we go, too?" urged Dot. "Sam will bring us back."

"Oh, for goodness' sake!" frowned Bobby, pulling on his rubber boots and stamping in them to make sure they were well on. "Why do you always want to tag along every place we go?"

Dot looked hurt, and Bobby was really ashamed of himself. He wasn't cross very often, but nothing seemed to go right this morning. No one said anything, but Mother Blossom sent the twins out into the kitchen on some errand, and then the car came around and Meg and Bobby and Father Blossom tramped through the snow and climbed in under the snug curtains. Bobby would have felt better if some one had scolded him.

"Guess we're going to have enough snow this winter to make up for last," remarked Sam Layton cheerfully. He was not cross, and he was blissfully unconscious that any one else had been. "Fill-Up and me is getting kind of tired of clearing off walks every single morning," he went on, giving the dog his nickname.

Philip, who sat beside Sam on the front seat, wagged his tail conversationally.

"Maybe we'll have another snow fight," suggested Meg. "That would be fun, wouldn't it, Bobby?"

"No, it wouldn't," snapped Bobby ungraciously. For the life of him, he did not seem able to feel pleasant.

Meg talked to Father Blossom and Sam after that, and in a few moments they were set down at the school, and the car rolled on to the foundry office.

Bobby had bad luck—bad luck or something else—all the morning. He blotted his copy book; he had the wrong answer to the example he was sent to work out at the board; at recess he was so cross to Palmer Davis that that devoted friend slapped him and they had a tussle that ended in both being forced to spend the remainder of the play time sitting quietly at two front desks under Miss Mason's eye. Altogether Bobby seemed to be in for a bad day.

"Everybody's so mean," he scolded, going off in a corner by himself to eat his lunch at noon. "I never saw such a lot of horrid folks."

To add to his unhappiness, Norah had forgotten that he didn't like tuna fish sandwiches and had given him all that kind. Bobby knew that very likely she had packed egg or some other good mixture in Meg's box and that by merely asking he could trade with his sister. But no, it suited him to feel that Norah had deliberately spoiled his lunch for him.

"Robert, you haven't been out of the room this morning," cried Miss Mason, swooping down on him. "Go out and get some fresh air and see if you can't be pleasanter this afternoon. What you need is to play in the snow."

Bobby dashed downstairs and out into the yard, wishing violently that he could punch some one. He even rolled several snowballs in the hope that some of his friends would come along and offer themselves as targets. Then a mischievous idea popped into his mind.

"I'll fill up Miss Mason's desk," he chuckled. "She needs to play in the snow, too."

This very bad boy proceeded to fill his arms with snowballs and stole up the back stairway, where he would be less likely to meet any one, into his classroom. The room was empty, and Bobby arranged his snowballs neatly in Miss Mason's desk, which happened to be an old-fashioned affair with a hinged lid.

"She can play with it," murmured Bobby, closing the lid softly and running downstairs again so that he might come in with the others when the bell rang.

It had stopped snowing, and the sun was shining warm and bright, dazzling to the eyes. Bobby felt better already, for some mysterious reason, and he plunged into a hilarious game of tag that lasted until the signal rang.

When he went into his classroom he glanced quickly at Miss Mason's desk. It looked as usual, and when the reading lesson was given out, he quickly forgot the hidden snowballs. Palmer Davis was standing up to read a paragraph when the class first heard something.

"Drip! drip! drip!" went a soft little tapping noise.

Miss Mason heard it, too. She thought the pipes in the cloak room had sprung a leak perhaps.

"Teacher!" Tim Roon's hand waved wildly. "Teacher, your desk's leaking!"

Tim, for once, did not have a guilty conscience in connection with a piece of mischief, and he was delighted to have an opportunity to call attention to the fact.

"It's leaking all over!" he volunteered.

"That will do, Tim," said Miss Mason calmly.

She raised her desk lid and peered in. Then she closed it and surveyed her class. Bobby could feel his face getting red. He looked down at his book.

"Robert Blossom," said Miss Mason, "come here to me."

Bobby went up the aisle which seemed at least two miles long. Miss Mason did not ask him if he had put the snow in her desk. She merely raised the lid again and pointed to the half melted snowballs.

"Take those out," she commanded coldly. "Throw them out of the window. Then get a cloth and dry the inside of this desk and mop up the floor. And you may stay an hour after school to-night."

Bobby had to make a separate trip for each mushy snowball, the eyes of the class following him from the desk to the window and back again with maddening interest. When he came back from a trip to the cellar to get a cloth from the janitor, for Miss Mason refused to help him, and began to dry the inside of the desk, they snickered audibly; but when he got down on his hands and knees and mopped the floor under the desk, they seemed to think it was the biggest kind of joke. They did not dare laugh aloud, but Bobby could feel them smiling and nudging one another.

"Next time, I hope, you will leave the snow outside where it belongs," said Miss Mason, when he had stayed his hour after school that night and she dismissed him.

"Yes'm," murmured Bobby meekly.

"My, it's been the worst day," he confided to Father Blossom that evening. "Nothing went right. I had the meanest time!"



CHAPTER XII

BUILDING A SNOW MAN

The rehearsals for the play went on merrily, and the children were faithful in attendance. Meg, though, was an hour late getting home from school one afternoon, and as Bobby could not practice without her, he was very much put out.

"Where have you been?" he demanded. "Everybody's been waiting for you. Miss Mason didn't keep you in, did she?"

Meg looked uncomfortable.

"No, I didn't have to stay in," she admitted.

"Then where were you?" insisted Bobby.

"I was hunting for my locket," confessed Meg. "I heard Daddy say the snow melted a lot last night, and I thought maybe I could find it. But I didn't." She sighed deeply.

Meg still clung to the hope of finding her locket, though the rest of the family had long ago given up the idea that it would ever be found.

A day or two later when the children came into the school yard they were surprised to find a small army of snow soldiers drawn up to receive them. There were six men in a row, headed by a captain, wearing a rakish snow hat and carrying a fine wooden sword.

"Who did it?" asked every one. "Did Mr. Carter make 'em?"

Miss Wright was ready to tell them.

"Some poor tramp who was once a sculptor made them for you," she told the wondering pupils. "John, the janitor, tells me that he was here all last night keeping the fires going because he was afraid the pipes would freeze. This poor artist saw the light, and knocked at the door to ask if he might come in and get warm. I'm glad to say John asked him in and shared his midnight lunch with him. Then he took him home to breakfast with him. But first the artist made these snow men to please you, and perhaps to see if his old skill still was left to him."

"Let us make a snow man in our back yard," proposed Bobby to Meg on the way home from school that afternoon. "Dot and Twaddles tried it, but there wasn't enough snow then. We can make a good one."

They found the twins ready to help them, and in a very short time they had rolled a huge snowball that was pronounced just the thing for Mr. Snowman's body.

"We can't make long thin legs like the soldiers," said Bobby regretfully. "I wonder how the man made 'em like that. We'll have to have short roundish legs for ours."

The short "roundish" legs finished, they had still to make the head. This was done by rolling a smaller snowball and mounting it on the large round one.

"Now he needs a face," said Dot, gazing with admiration on their work. "How'll you make his eyes and nose, Bobby?"

"With coal," said Bobby. "Meg, will you go and get some lumps of coal? And ask Mother if there is an old hat we can have. He ought to have a hat."

Meg ran info the house, and was back again in a few seconds, carrying a handful of coal done up in a bit of newspaper.

"Mother's hunting up an old derby hat," she reported. "She'll throw it to us. Oh, Bobby, doesn't he look funny?"

The snow man was a bit cross-eyed, but he had a cheerful, companionable look for all of that, and the children were well pleased with him.

"But arms!" cried Meg suddenly. "He hasn't any arms, Bobby."

Sure enough, they had forgotten to make him any arms. This omission was quickly remedied. Mother Blossom called to them, as they were putting the finishing touches on the right hand.

"Here's an old hat of Daddy's," she said, stepping out on the porch. "Will it do? Here, Meg, catch."

She tossed the hat over to Meg.

"Wait and see how it looks, Mother," begged Dot. "Want a chair, Bobby? I'll get it."

The snow man was so tall that Bobby could not reach the top of his head, and when Dot came back, dragging a chair for him to stand on, even then he had to get up on his tiptoes to place the hat.

"He's a beauty, isn't he?" said Mother Blossom enthusiastically. "We'll keep him there to guard our yard as long as the snow lasts. You haven't built him where he will bother Norah when she wants to hang out clothes, have you?"

The four little Blossoms were sure they had not; and Norah herself, when she came to the door presently to have a peep at the wonderful snow man, declared that he wouldn't be in her way at all.

"'Tis fresh cookies I've been baking," she announced smilingly. "I don't suppose any one will be after wanting to sample 'em? Ye do? Well, then, wipe your feet on the mat and come in. And, for the love of goodness, leave the kitchen door open. I'm near perishing for a breath of cool air."

The kitchen was very warm, for Norah had been ironing. She was a thrifty soul, and when she had a big fire to heat her irons she liked to bake good things to eat in the oven at the same time. A basket full of beautifully ironed and starched clothes sat on the table, ready to be carried upstairs, and a bowl of crisp sugar cookies sat beside it.

"Leave the door open," ordered Bobby, his eyes on the cookies. "My, they look good, Norah. How many may we have?"

"Two apiece, and no more," said Norah firmly. "'Tis blunting your appetite for supper if ye take more than two. Are they good, Twaddles?"

Twaddles' mouth was too full for an answer, but his eyes spoke for him. Those cookies were simply delicious.

"Bobby!" cried Meg from the window where she had wandered with her cakes. "Oh, Bobby, here's that horrid Tim Roon and Charlie Black. Look! They're going to throw snowballs at our snow man."

There was a rush for the window. Sure enough there stood Tim Roon and Charlie Black, just outside the fence, and as the four little Blossoms watched, Tim flung a snowball smack at the poor defenseless snow man.

"Leave 'em alone," counseled Norah, putting a restraining hand on Twaddles, who was making for the door. "As long as 'tis only the snow man they're aiming at, let 'em be."

But as Norah spoke, whiz! through the kitchen door came a big snowball. It landed right on top of the basket of wash, and lay wet and dirty on top of a ruffled guimpe of Dot's.

"The dirty ragamuffins!" The angry Norah snatched the slushy ball and flung it into the coal-scuttle. "The miserable spalpeens!"

Bobby seized his cap.

"I'll fix them!" he muttered, as he dashed out of the house.

Tim Roon and Charlie Black saw him coming, and they judged that it would be better to run. They didn't want to fight Bobby, even two to one, so close to his own house. Some one might come out and help him.

The two boys tore up the street, Bobby after them. Unfortunately, Bobby ran head-first into an old gentleman who, before he let him go, collared him and read him a lecture on the rights of people in the street. This gave Tim and Charlie a chance to hide behind some bushes on a vacant lot.

"Jump on him when he comes along," advised Tim, who was not a fair fighter.

So when Bobby came running by, for he did not know how far up the street the boys had gone, Tim and Charlie pounced on him and rolled him in the snow.

"None of that," said a strange voice. "Two to one's no fair. One of you leave off, or I'll stop the fight."

The strange voice belonged to a high-school boy, Stanley Reeves, and both Tim and Charlie knew he was a member of the gymnasium wrestling team and quite capable of stopping any small-boy fight.

"You're too old to fight a boy of that size, anyway," declared Stanley, surveying Tim with disgust.

"But I'm going to punch him," announced Bobby heatedly.

"Oh, you are?" said Reeves with interest. "Go ahead, then, and I'll sit here and keep an eye on this chicken to see that he doesn't pitch in at the wrong moment"

Reeves took a firm hold on Charlie's coat collar and backed him off to one side.

"Wash his face for him—it needs it," the high-school lad went on to Bobby.

Like a small but angry bumble bee, Bobby flew at Tim. They clinched and plunged head-long into the snow, where they pounded and wrestled and grunted and gasped as all boys do when they are fighting a thing out. Tim was not a fair fighter, nor a very brave one, and most of his victories had been won over smaller boys or by using unfair methods. Now with Stanley Reeves looking on, he did not dare cheat, and so Bobby unexpectedly found himself, after perhaps five minutes of tussling, sitting on Tim's chest, with Tim breathless and beaten.

"Wash his face," insisted Stanley, suddenly scooping up a handful of snow and beginning to rub it thoroughly into Charlie's eyes and mouth.



CHAPTER XIII

THE TWINS HAVE A SECRET

Bobby seized a double handful of snow and began to give Tim the same treatment.

"Quit!" yelled Tim in anguish. "Quit, I tell you, Bobby! Ow, now you've cut my nose!"

A small twig in the snow had scratched poor Tim rather violently on his small pug nose, but it was not cut.

"Say you've had enough," ordered Bobby, thumping about on the fallen lad's chest like a particularly well-packed bale of hay. "Say you've had enough!"

"Had enough," murmured Tim obediently.

Bobby got up at once, and Tim rose and shook himself. At the same moment Stanley Reeves let go of Charlie. The two boys slouched off without a word.

"Now that ought to last them for some time," said Stanley cheerfully. "Any time you need any advice on training up Tim Roon in the way he should go, you just apply to me, Bobby."

Bobby grinned, showing his even, white teeth, and said he would. Then Stanley went on to join the other high-school boys who were bob-sledding, and Bobby ran home to tell his family the result of his chase.

That night it snowed again. Father Blossom said winter was a habit, like anything else, and that after the weather made up its mind to send one snow-storm it couldn't stop but had to send them right along.

"I want Dot to stay in the house to-day," said Mother Blossom, after Meg and Bobby had started for school. "She coughed a good deal last night and I think she'll have to keep out of the snow for a while."

"Oh, Mother!" wailed Dot. "I want to go coasting with Twaddles. Everybody's out on Wayne Place hill in the afternoons, and when we go in the morning we have the nicest time! Please, Mother, just this once; and I will take the nasty cough medicine to-night, just as good."

Mother Blossom shook her head.

"Mother said no," she said firmly. "Now, Dot, you're too big a girl to cry. Why, dearest, you haven't missed a day since there has been sledding. Can't you and Twaddles find something pleasant to do in the house?"

"Just suppose you hadn't any house to stay in," remarked Twaddles severely. "Then you'd have something to cry about."

Twaddles was usually very good indeed just when Dot felt like being naughty. And when Twaddles was bad, Dot was generally as good as gold. But sometimes they were naughty together, and now and then as good as gold at the same time, but not often.

"There's nothing to do," sobbed Dot, using her pretty handkerchief to sop her tears with and finding it not half large enough. "I'm tired of paper dolls and I don't want to play school. Oh, dear, oh, dear!"

Aunt Polly, coming into the room in search of her pet thimble, discovered the disconsolate Dot huddled on the sofa, and Twaddles standing by her suggesting one amusement after the other.

"Never mind, honey," comforted Aunt Polly, sitting down on the sofa and cuddling Dot into her lap. "I know something you haven't done and that will be heaps of fun."

"That I never did?" asked Dot, sitting up to look at Aunt Polly.

"That you've never done," repeated Aunt Polly.

"Indoors or out?" asked Twaddles, standing on one foot excitedly.

"Out," answered Aunt Polly.

"Mother won't let me go out," wailed Dot, the tears starting again. "I think it's mean."

"Mean?" said Aunt Polly. "Goodness, lambie, suppose you should be sick when we had the play and the fair? No indeed, you mind Mother like a good girl and you'll be glad when the cough is all gone. But this thing I have in mind can nearly all be done in the house, and then we'll get Sam and Twaddles to do the outdoor work. Then, when Bobby and Meg come home this afternoon, maybe they won't be surprised!"

Aunt Polly and Dot and Twaddles put their heads very close together and whispered for five minutes or so. The twins were delighted at the idea of having a secret from Meg and Bobby who, of course, were often into things that did not interest or held no place for Dot and Twaddles.

"Well then, that's settled," announced Aunt Polly, after they had whispered their plan. "Now we'll go down to the kitchen and see Norah."

Norah was glad to see them, and when she heard what they wanted she brought out a plate of stale bread and a thick chunk of clean white suet.

"Sure ye can cut it up yourselves," she said to Dot and Twaddles, who eyed the big carving knife fearfully. "Get your scissors. I cut the stuffing for the Sunday chicken with the scissors, entirely."

So for half an hour the twins, under Aunt Polly's direction, snipped bread crumbs and suet happily and then busily tied strings to other pieces of fat.

"We're going to have company, Norah," explained Dot, opening and shutting her cramped little fingers when the bread and fat were all nicely snipped.

"Company, is it?" asked Norah, glad to see Dot had stopped crying. "Is it food for company you're fixing now?"

"Yes, it's their dinner," answered Dot, nodding her head. "Isn't it, Twaddles? And we're going to set the table. You watch, Norah."

Aunt Polly went down into the cellar and came back, carrying a broad, smooth board, the top of a packing box. She emptied the bread and suet crumbs into a paper bag and put the fat tied to the pieces of string in another. Then Twaddles slipped on his cap and coat, took the two bags in one hand, tucked the board under his arm, and ran out to the garage.

"Put a chair here in the window, Dot," said Aunt Polly. "There, I'll pin back the curtains. Now you can see everything they do."

Norah peered curiously over Dot's shoulder, interested, too.

In a few minutes Sam came out of the garage, carrying a hammer and the little short step-ladder that conveniently turned into a chair if you knew how to do the trick. He and Twaddles marched over to the clothespole that Norah seldom used. She preferred to wind her clothes-line around three, and the fourth pole, to Dot's fancy, always seemed to feel slighted.

"Now that poor pole won't be lonesome any more," she murmured to herself.

Sam set up his stepladder, and, taking the board from Twaddles and a couple of long, strong nails from his pocket, he nailed the board firmly to the top of the pole.

"See, Norah?" cried Dot.

Then Sam took the bags, and the fat and crumbs of bread he scattered all over the top of the board. All around the edge of the board he drove in smaller nails, and to these he tied the pieces of fat, there to dangle on their strings.

Dot clapped her hands.

"It's our bird table!" she explained to Norah. "Where's Mother? I'm going to tell her."

Mother Blossom came and admired the bird-table, and the grocery boy, when he came with the packages, noticed it right away.

"Annabel Lee can't get up there, can she?" he grinned. "Looks like you'd have plenty of company, Dot."

Indeed, the few sparrows that came first must have told the other birds, for in less than an hour there was a throng of feathered creatures eating at the twins' table. Chippies and snowbirds came as well as the sparrows.

"I only wish we had built one before," said Aunt Polly, watching the hungry little crowd eat. "I've thrown out bread crumbs every morning, but half the time they were buried in the snow. We can keep this swept off and always filled with food."

Dot spent the rest of the morning watching the birds, and how she did laugh at those who picked at the fat hanging on the strings. They flew at it so fiercely it seemed as though they thought it was alive and they must kill it.

"What's that out in the yard?" asked Bobby the first thing when he came home from school at noon.

"That's our bird table," Twaddles informed him. "Aunt Polly thought of it and Dot and I fixed it. Sam nailed it up for us. You ought to see the birds eat the stuff."

"Let me put some food out to-morrow morning?" asked Meg. "Doesn't Aunt Polly think of the loveliest things!"

Dot didn't want to leave the window to eat her own lunch, but the sight of the rice pudding decided her, especially as Mother Blossom said she didn't think her table should be slighted when the birds showed such appreciation of the one set for them.

"They have such good manners," said Mother Blossom pointedly.

"I wonder if Bobby and Meg couldn't go over to Mrs. Anson's right from school, Mrs. Blossom?" asked Norah, a few minutes before it was time for the children to put on their boots again. "We haven't an egg in the house, and Sam is going to be gone with the car all the afternoon."

"But, Norah, I hate to have them go so far in this kind of weather," objected Mother Blossom. "Don't you think it feels like more snow?"

"Oh, no, Mother!" Bobby's voice was eager. "They were sweeping off the pond this noon, weren't they, Meg? They never sweep it till it's stopped snowing for good, so there'll be skating. Meg and I can skate up the pond to the creek and up that as far as Mrs. Anson's house. Then we'll come home by the road, so we won't break any eggs. My, Mother, that will be such fun!"

Meg's eyes danced with pleasure.

"It won't snow, Mother," she said positively. "It doesn't feel that way a bit, really it doesn't. And we do need eggs."

Mother Blossom laughed.

"Very well, then," she agreed. "But you must carry my muff and Bobby shall have the little hand-warmer stove."



CHAPTER XIV

LOST IN THE STORM

Of course the twins were wild to go, too; but even if Dot had not had a cold, the walk would have been much too long for them. Aunt Polly promised to help them make molasses candy that afternoon, and that cheered them up somewhat.

"Now if it snows between now and the time school is out, come home without going to Mrs. Anson's," said Mother Blossom, following Meg and Bobby to the door. "It gets dark early you know, and you mustn't be out alone in that deserted section in a storm or after dark. Remember, won't you, Bobby?"

"Yes'm," answered Bobby, squinting knowingly at the sky as he had seen Sam do. "It isn't going to snow, Mother. Make Dot and Twaddles save us some candy, will you?"

"Course we will," called the twins, who had followed Mother Blossom. "A whole plateful, Bobby."

"I hope it doesn't snow," said Meg, trotting along beside Bobby, her hands deep in Mother's soft, furry muff. "Got the hand-stove, Bobby?"

"Yes. But it isn't lit," her brother said. "I'm not going to burn it for this little walk. Hurry, or we'll be late."

They reached the school house just as the first bell rang, and all that afternoon first Meg, then Bobby, would glance at the windows, fearful lest they see the whirling white flakes that would mean they could not go after the eggs. But three o'clock came and still no snow.

"I said it wouldn't!" announced Bobby triumphantly, meeting Meg at the door, for he had had to go down to the cellar and borrow a match from the janitor to light the little charcoal stove Mother Blossom had given him to carry in his pocket.

"Feel how warm." Bobby held out the stove for Meg to hold in her hand. "John had to light it for me, 'cause he was afraid I'd set myself on fire. Silly! I guess I've lit matches before!"

As a matter of fact, Bobby had had very little to do with matches unless an older person was about, but he did not like the janitor to think he never had matches in his pocket.

Bobby had their skates over his arm, and the two children hurried down to the pond. Already a number of skaters were out, and the ice was in perfect condition. Bobby helped Meg buckle on her skates and then in a few minutes he had adjusted his own, and they set off.

"Next year, maybe, we can have real hockey skates," said Meg. "The twins are going to have double runners. But we've had fun on these, haven't we?"

Bobby looked at his sister. She wore a bright red tam-o'-shanter cap on her yellow hair, and her blue eyes sparkled like sapphires. Her cheeks were rosy above the dark fur collar of her coat, and even if she was his sister, Bobby had to admit that she was very pretty.

"Sure we've had fun on these skates," he agreed heartily. "You skate fine now, Meg, honest you do."

Meg was pleased, as what little sister would not be?

"Well I'm glad I learned," she answered. "What's that over there, Bobby?"

She pointed to something fluttering from a bush on the other side of the pond.

"Let's go and look," said Bobby. And then, as they came up to it, he said: "Oh, it's an old skating cap. Guess some one lost it and they've hung it there so he'll see it."

At the head of the pond they came to the creek. This, too, was frozen over solidly, and, joining hands, Meg and Bobby began to follow its winding way.

"'Member how it looks in the summer time?" asked Meg. "These bushes meet across it then."

Great high banks of snow rose on either side of the creek, and when they reached the twin oaks, so called because the two trees had grown together to form one trunk, where they must turn off to reach Mrs. Anson's house, Meg and Bobby had trouble finding a foothold.

They took off their skates and managed to scramble up the bank, however, and then found themselves in a field of snow, unbroken save for a few little dots and dashes that they recognized as rabbit tracks.

"They don't clean off their walks, do they?" giggled Meg. "How do you tell where Mrs. Anson's house is?"

"See the chicken wire sticking up?" replied Bobby. "And there's smoke coming out of her chimney."

Sure enough, at a distance across the field the children could see rough posts sticking up which they knew were part of the chicken-yard fence. Soft, black smoke was coming out of a chimney, too, and drifting against the sky.

Walking single file, and glad of their rubber boots, the two children tramped over the field and came presently to the shabby, lonesome little house where Mrs. Anson lived.

"My land!" she cried when she saw them. "I was just thinking about your Ma this morning. My man's been away all week cutting wood, or I'd have sent him down with some eggs. I suppose you want two dozen and a half, Bobby?"

While Mrs. Anson bustled about packing the eggs in a neat box, the children warmed their hands and drank the hot cocoa she had ready for them.

"Made it for my man, but he sent word he won't be back till to-morrow morning," she explained. "There's your eggs, now, and you'd better hurry. We're going to have more snow to-night."

Mrs. Anson spent half her time alone in the lonesome little house, with three big tabby cats for company and her hundreds of chickens to keep her busy. She liked to be alone, and she always seemed contented and happy.

"I don't see why she says it's going to snow," said Bobby to Meg, as they took the eggs and went out of the narrow gate which creaked dismally.

Mrs. Anson had gone directly to her chicken yard, and they could see her feeding her hens and shutting them up for the night, evidently in great haste.

"Well, I guess she knows," returned Meg doubtfully. "I heard Daddy say she and Mr. Anson knew more about the weather than most folks, 'cause they've lived 'way out here so long and watched it. Let's hurry."

As they hurried on suddenly snow flakes began to fall. Gently at first, then faster and faster, till the children could not see a foot before them. Meg nearly walked into a tree.

"We won't go home the creek way," said Bobby decidedly. "Come on over here, Meg, and we'll get down on to the road. It'll be easier walking, and perhaps some one will give us a ride."

Both Meg and Bobby knew where the road was. They had driven over it with Sam in the car, and they had walked it many a time in the summer. Then why it should perversely disappear just at the time when they needed it most was something neither one was ever able to explain. But disappear it did—that ill-natured country road completely ran away from them.

"We've walked awful far," sighed Meg, breathless from fighting against the wind which blew the snow into their faces so sharply that each flake stung. "Where do you suppose that road is, Bobby?"

Bobby was carefully carrying the eggs. He had no intention of losing those.

"I guess we'll find it," he assured his sister cheerfully. "Are your hands cold, Meg? Here, hold this heater a minute."

Meg's hands in her muff were quite comfortable, and she opened her mouth to say so to Bobby. But without warning she slipped down out of sight before she had time to say a word.

"Meg!" shouted Bobby. "Meg! Are you hurt?"

Meg's delighted little laugh bubbled up to him.

"Oh, Bobby," she gurgled. "I guess I've found the road. Look out for that bank I fell down. I'm sure this is a road. You come and see."

Bobby cautiously scrambled down the bank, over which Meg had slipped, and joined his sister. Meg was on her feet again, and trying to brush the snow off her coat and out of her collar.

"It is a road, isn't it?" she asked anxiously.

"Yes, it's a road; but it can't be the one near Mrs. Anson's house," answered Bobby, puzzled. "We've walked too far. What's that sticking up?"

It proved to be a signboard, and, giving Meg the eggs to hold, Bobby tried to reach up high enough to brush the snow off so that they could read the lettering. The board was far above his head.

"Shinny up," urged Meg. "Or stand on my shoulders."

The pole was too wet for the first, and Bobby did not want to use his sister for a stepping stone. He finally managed, by jumping up and flirting his cap across the board at each jump, to knock off enough snow to enable them to read the letters.

"M-E-R-T-O-N, six miles" spelled Bobby. "R-I-C-E-V-I-L-L-E, four miles."

Meg looked at him, troubled.

"Where does it say Oak Hill is?" she asked.

"It doesn't say, but we'll find it," said Bobby stoutly, "Come on, Meg, we'll go the way that's four miles."

Meg had gone some distance down the road before she discovered that she had left her muff at the sign post. There was nothing to do but to go back for it. As they came up to it, nearly buried in the snow already, so fast it was falling, a little rabbit started up and hopped away over the road in a panic of fear.

"Guess he thought it was another rabbit," commented Bobby.

He walked ahead, carrying the eggs, and Meg followed him closely. Suddenly he stopped and gave a shout.



CHAPTER XV

GREAT PREPARATIONS

"Meg!" he called. "What do you think? Here's the old skating cap!"

"Skating cap?" repeated Meg stupidly.

"Yes! The skating cap we noticed when we were going to Mrs. Anson's," said Bobby. "Don't you remember? We must be clear on the other side of the pond. That was the back road we followed."

Meg was too tired, with tramping through the deep snow, to care very much about which road they had followed. She wanted to get home.

"My coat collar's all wet on my neck," she complained fretfully. "How can we get over the pond, Bobby?"

"Have to walk it," said Bobby. "The snow's too thick to try to skate. Give me your hand, and you won't slip."

Meg didn't slip, but half way across Bobby did, his feet going out from under him without warning and sending him sprawling. It was so dark now, for they had walked a long distance since leaving Mrs. Anson's house, that Meg could hardly see him.

"Bobby! where are you?" she cried.

"Right here, don't step on me," giggled Bobby, scrambling to his feet and making sure the eggs were unharmed. "That dark thing over there must be the bank. Gee, doesn't that sound like Philip?"

A dog on the low bank had barked, and indeed it did sound like Philip.

"Why it is!" called Meg in delight, when they reached the edge of the pond and began to climb up. "You dear, old Philip! Were you looking for us?"

Philip wagged his stumpy tail and frisked about, trying his best to tell the children that he had come out to look for them. Having Philip with them to talk to and pet made the rest of the way home seem shorter, and in less than fifteen minutes Meg and Bobby were shaking the snow off their clothes in the Blossom front hall.

"Your mother has worried ever since the first snow flake," said Father Blossom, helping Meg shake snow from her wet hair. "Sam and I should have been out with a lantern if you had been much longer."

"We're starving," declared Bobby, handing over the eggs which he had remembered to carry carefully all the time. "Isn't supper ready?"

Supper was ready and Meg and Bobby were so hungry that Father Blossom pretended to be alarmed for fear there wasn't enough food in the house. He said he was afraid Norah would come in and say there was no more bread and that all the butter and baked potatoes were gone, and then what would they do?

"Oh, I think they're only a little hungrier than usual," Aunt Polly said, smiling.

Being lost in a snow storm didn't make either Bobby or Meg dislike the snow and the first thing they thought of the next morning was the weather.

"I hope it snowed all night," said Meg cheerfully. "I would like to see snow up to the second-story windows, wouldn't you, Bobby?"

Bobby thought that would be fun, too, but when he mentioned it at the breakfast table, no one seemed to like the idea.

"Just about as much snow as I care for, right now," declared Father Blossom. "Our trucks are having trouble breaking the roads and this fresh fall is discouraging for people who want to work. I've a good mind to get out the old box sleigh and hire a horse and let Sam drive to Fernwood for that freight consignment," he said to Mother Blossom.

But Meg's quick little brain understood at once.

"Daddy!" she cried, the loveliest rose color coming into her cheeks. "Darling Daddy, can't we go in the box sleigh?"

Mother Blossom and Aunt Polly laughed, but Bobby looked up from his oatmeal quickly and the twins began at once to ask if they could go, too.

"Why, lambs, what about school?" Mother Blossom reminded them and that helped Meg with her argument beautifully.

"It's a one-session day!" she said triumphantly. "The teachers have to go to a lecture this afternoon. Oh, Mother, you went riding in a sleigh when you were a little girl and I never did."

"And you've been in automobiles and when I was a little girl I never did," Mother Blossom said gaily. "However, we'll ask Daddy."

Father Blossom looked at Meg, a twinkle in his eye.

"I was careless to mention 'sleigh'," he announced. "But I still think Sam will have to go with a horse, instead of a foundry truck; and if four children were ready and warmly dressed about quarter of one, I shouldn't wonder if that sleigh stopped before this house."

My goodness, there was no more peace at the table after that. The twins nearly went crazy and they wanted to put their leggings on at once, while Bobby and Meg for some mysterious reason seemed to feel that the sooner they got to school, the earlier they would be dismissed and they hurried away a quarter of an hour before the usual time.

"You don't think it will hurt Dot, then?" said Mother Blossom as her husband began to pull on his coat ready to go to the foundry.

"Oh, it's a sunny day and she is about over that cold," he answered. "I think the fresh air will do her good."

Dot and Twaddles, who had heard the question and were listening anxiously for the reply, sped away to the kitchen to tell Norah where they were going.

You might have thought that the twins were setting out for the North Pole, the way they started to get ready. They got out their rubbers and brushed them carefully. They put their sweaters and scarfs and mittens on one chair, their warm coats on another and their hats on the table. Then they went out on the back porch and shook their leggings and put them on still another chair. How Mother Blossom did laugh when she saw everything spread out.

"We don't want to keep Sam waiting," explained Dot seriously. "Bobby and Meg will have their things on, but Twaddles and I have a lot to do."

At that moment Twaddles was out in the barn asking the patient Sam questions.

"Yes, your father told me you could go," said Sam. "Yes, the dog can go too—the more the merrier, as far as I am concerned. No, you can't drive—I have to keep my mind busy some way and driving is a good plan."

"Why are we going to Fernwood?" asked Twaddles. "Daddy said it was about freight."

"And you don't see why we slight the Oak Hill station—is that it?" Sam returned good-naturedly. "Well, Twaddles, this consignment got side-tracked and it's some new office equipment your father wants right away; it is quicker to drive over and get it, than have it re-routed."

Twaddles said "Oh," and immediately wanted to know how many miles it was to Fernwood.

"Ten or twelve," said Sam. "And mind you dress warmly enough."

"Oh, I have lots to wear," Twaddles assured him. "This is my last year coat, you know."

"But you want to remember the wind blows pretty hard on that back road," said Sam. "If you think you're going to be the least bit chilly, you'd better put plenty of newspapers around you."

"You think you can tease me, but you can't," Twaddles told him scornfully. "Paper isn't warm."

"That's just where you make your mistake," declared Sam gravely. "There is nothing warmer than paper—fold two or three newspapers under your sweater and you can face the stiffest wind and be comfortable."

Twaddles looked unconvinced. But when he went back to the house and asked Norah, she, too, said that newspapers kept out the cold.

"Say, Dot," said Twaddles to his twin two minutes later. "Sam and Norah say newspapers will keep you warmer than—than anything. Let's fix some."

Dot thought he was playing a joke on her, but when he finally made her understand, she was willing to wear a newspaper or two and be cozy.

"Oh, we want more than one or two," said Twaddles, who liked a heaping measure of everything. "Come on down cellar and you fix me and I'll fix you."

Norah kept all the old newspapers in the cellar, in a corner, and every three weeks a man came around and bought them.

"I don't know exactly how to do it, but you stand still and I'll tie them on," directed Twaddles.

He had brought a ball of cord with him and now he went to work to wrap the papers around the plump Dot. He opened them out wide and she held them around her by using her arms till he had a quantity of the sheets rolled about her. Then he took his string and wound that around her several times and tied it in a strong knot.

"I don't see how I can get my sweater and coat on over this," objected Dot when she was declared "finished."

"Oh, they'll go on all right," the cheerful Twaddles assured her. "Now do me—put on lots of papers, so I won't be cold."

Dot obediently wrapped papers around him till he was twice his usual chubby size and looked very odd indeed. Then she tied several thicknesses of the cord about him and he too was ready for the long drive.

"We rattle when we walk," said Twaddles, "but I guess that is all right."

They found some pictures that interested them, in the papers remaining on the floor and they stayed in the cellar till, to their surprise, they heard quick feet running overhead and Meg's voice in the kitchen.

"It must be noon!" said Dot, "Come on, we have to hurry."

And as they started upstairs, Norah opened the door and called down:

"Lunch is ready—are you still playing in the cellar?"

Mother Blossom and Aunt Polly were just sitting down at the dining-room table and Meg and Bobby, who had been upstairs to wash their hands, were in the hall, when the twins marched through the kitchen and slipped into their chairs. That is, they tried to sit down, but something seemed to be wrong.

"What on earth—" began Aunt Polly, staring.

"My dears! What have you been doing?" Mother Blossom gasped.

And Norah glanced in from the kitchen murmuring:

"Is it entirely crazy they are at last?" while Meg and Bobby shouted with laughter and turned Dot and Twaddles round and round to get a good look at them.

"What have you been doing?" Mother Blossom repeated.

"Why, we're ready for the sleigh ride," explained Twaddles. "Paper is awfully warm, Mother. Sam said so."

"It keeps the wind out," Dot added.

"You look like bundles of waste paper," Bobby chuckled. "You'd better not go out on the street that way, or when the trash cart comes, the man will pick you up and throw you on top."

"I do think you have more paper than you need," said Aunt Polly gently.

And though Twaddles and Dot did not want to admit it, they had already begun to feel that way themselves. They could not sit down with any comfort and when Bobby ran out in the hall and brought in Dot's coat, she found she couldn't get it on at all.

"You'll be warm enough without the paper, dears," Mother Blossom said positively. "Plenty warm and much more comfortable. Let Bobby and Meg help you get unwrapped and then hurry and eat lunch before it is cold."

So Bobby and Meg untied the knots in the String and the papers slipped to the floor. The twins breathed a sigh of relief and became interested in the creamed potatoes.

"But don't forget to take the papers down to the cellar and put them back on the pile, neatly," cautioned Mother Blossom.

Bobby and Meg helped Dot and Twaddles take back the papers and then it was time to put on their coats and sweaters. Twaddles was just stamping his feet into his rubbers—he always shook the house, Norah declared, when he put on his rubbers—when the sound of jingling sleighbells was heard outside.

"There's Sam! There's the sleigh!" shrieked the four little Blossoms, scattering kisses between Mother Blossom and Aunt Polly and rushing for the door.

"Good grief, is the house on fire?" Sam demanded as they came running out of the house. "Where's Philip? I thought you wanted him to go."



CHAPTER XVI

OVER THE CROSS ROAD

Philip could be heard barking madly in the garage and Meg volunteered to go and let him out. The others were too much absorbed in the horse and sleigh to offer to release the dog.

"What's the name of the horse?" asked Dot.

"I forgot to inquire," Sam answered. "So you may call him anything you like. He lives at the livery stable and you might name him after his master, Walter Rock. Call him Walt for short, you know."

Philip, dancing and barking, came running over the snowy lawn and Meg raced after him.

"The horse's name is Walt," Dot informed her importantly. "I think he looks kind, don't you, Meg?"

"Of course he is a kind horse," said Meg. "He's a pretty color, too."

Walt was a spotted horse, brown and white, not a polka-dot horse, of course, but with what Meg called a "pattern" of oddly shaped slashes of white on his brown coat.

"He must be a foulard horse," Meg commented as the children climbed into the soft clean straw which filled the box of the sleigh.

Sam shouted with laughter and Mother Blossom and Aunt Polly and Norah, who were all standing in the doorway to see them start, called out to ask what the joke was about.

"Tell you when we come back," shouted Sam, taking up the reins. "All set back there? Then here we go, jingle bells!"

The horse set off at a trot and the four little Blossoms grinned at each other delightedly. There were plenty of warm blankets in the sleigh and the livery stable man had put in a fur lap robe that made Twaddles think of a big black bear. None of the children had gone driving in a sleigh very often, for Father Blossom used his car practically all winter and kept no horses. Aunt Polly had horses and for all the children knew she might have a sleigh, though they had never seen one in the barn; but when they visited Aunt Polly at Brookside Farm, it was summer and snow was the one thing furthest from their thoughts.

"Meg," said Sam soberly as they left Oak Hill and turned into a country road, "this kind of a horse is called a calico horse. I thought you'd like to know."

"Well, foulard is something like calico—I mean the pattern is," Meg replied. "I like calico horses."

"I wish I'd brought the sled," said Bobby. "We could tie on behind and ride on it."

"It's more fun this way," Meg insisted, being a little girl who didn't always want something she didn't have. "Do you like to drive a sleigh, Sam?"

"Sure," said Sam over his shoulder. "Always did. When I was a boy and lived in the country, we had a real old-fashioned sleigh, with red cushions in it and everything. We used to drive down the river on the ice then—that was sport, let me tell you."

"Let us drive on the river," said the four little Blossoms with one voice.

"That's nothing but a creek, where you go to skate," Sam answered a little scornfully. "This river I'm talking about was a real river—wide and deep; boats came up it in summer time. We lived two or three hundred miles north of here and it was three times as cold."

"Well, it's cold enough now," said Dot wisely. "Isn't it, Meg?"

"Yes," Meg agreed absently, "but look how pretty it is—I think snow is lovely. And the bells sound so pretty, too. Here comes another sleigh."

The children stood up to look, holding on to the back of the seat, to steady themselves. Coming toward them were two horses, harnessed to a sleigh much like the one Sam was driving—a light box set on two sets of runners.

"From the creamery," said Sam, as his quick eyes saw the heavy milk cans.

The man driving the sleigh called "Howdy!" and shook his whip at them and Dot gasped and held on to Meg as Sam turned out for the other team.

The road was fairly well trampled in the center, but when it became necessary for two vehicles to pass, they had to turn into the drifts. The four little Blossoms felt their sleigh tilt alarmingly, but before they had time to be frightened they were back on the level road again.

"Do—do sleighs ever tip over?" asked Dot anxiously.

"Oh, sometimes," Sam said cheerfully. "But if you are going to be turned over in anything, Dot, always pick out a sleigh for the accident; a motor car can pin you down and a railroad wreck is serious, but when a sleigh turns over, you just slip out into the snow and there's nothing to hurt you."

This sounded comforting, but the children agreed that they would rather not be tipped over.

"I think we'll take this cross road over," said Sam, when they came to a place where four roads met. "It may be a bit harder going and more drifts to get through, but we'll save time at that."

"We don't have to save time, do we?" Bobby put in. "We're always saving time, Sam—at least you are. And I think it would be fun to drive as much as we want to, just once."

Sam laughed good-naturedly as he turned the horse into the road he had chosen.

"You'd like a good time to last as long as possible, wouldn't you, Bobby?" he said. "Well, with all the short cuts and all the time saving I can do, we won't be home before dark; does that suit you?"

That suited Bobby exactly and he began to whistle.

"Say," Twaddles cried, interrupting the whistling suddenly. "Say, Sam, I want to get out."

"You do? Why?" asked Sam, without turning his head.

"I saw a glove back there in the road," Twaddles announced. "A nice glove, Sam, that somebody lost."

Sam said "Whoa!" to the horse and turned to look at Twaddles.

"How far back—a mile?" he asked suspiciously.

"Just a little way," Twaddles replied earnestly. "I want to go get it, Sam. Please. It's a good glove."

"I suppose it is a worn-out mitten, but this is your trip, partly," said Sam, who was kindness itself and usually did all he could to make the four little Blossoms happy. "So run along, but if you're not back in an hour I am going on without you."

Twaddles laughed and Bobby helped him down. They watched him running down the road, a small, sturdy figure, dark against all that whiteness.

"He's got it!" cried Dot, as Twaddles stooped and picked something up. "Twaddles sees everything!"

Her twin did not run all the way back, because he couldn't. It was hard going in the snow and his feet slipped. Besides, he was almost out of breath.

"It's a good glove," the others heard him saying as he came within speaking distance. "It's a very good glove and somebody lost it."

Bobby and Meg pulled him back into the sleigh and he held out the glove for them to see. Sam Layton whistled in surprise when he examined it.

"Well, Twaddles, you were right and I was wrong," he said. "This is a good glove; it's fur lined and almost new. Somebody is out of luck—one glove is about as useless as one shoe lace."

"Maybe we'll find the man," Twaddles declared placidly.

"You believe in luck, don't you?" said Sam, starting the horse on his way again. "That glove must have been dropped from some wagon or car and probably last night. I think we're the first folks through here to-day."

Bobby wanted to know how Sam could tell and when it was pointed out to him that there were no tracks through the snow, he understood at once.

"Wouldn't it be nice if we found the other glove?" Dot suggested suddenly.

She had been very still and thoughtful and this was what she had been thinking.

Sam laughed and said that no one was ever as lucky as that.

"Daddy could wear them," Dot went on. "But maybe they wouldn't be the right size."

Walter, the horse, was walking now and the bells did not jingle. The road was drifted with snow and it was all even a very willing horse could do, to pull a sleigh through them.

It was Bobby's sharp eyes that first spied something square and dark ahead.

"There's a car!" he cried. "And I'll bet it's stuck!"

The horse pricked up his ears and stared steadily, while Sam gave a low whistle.

"Must have been there all night," he said. "There are no tracks through here. I suppose some one gave up the attempt and walked."

When they came up with the car, they found that no one was in it. It was a small closed car and it was stuck in the drifts as Bobby had guessed.

"I'll bet the glove belongs to the man who owns the car," said Meg.

"Your mother doesn't like you to say 'I'll bet,'" Sam reminded her. "But perhaps the driver did drop the glove. I'll bet he's wondering where he lost it."

The children shouted with laughter and Sam looked bewildered. Bobby explained to him they were laughing because he said "I'll bet."

"Well you see, you set me a bad example," said Sam good-naturedly. "You'd better be more careful."

"Why don't we tow the car along with us?" Bobby suggested.

"One reason, we haven't a rope and another reason, Walt has all he can do to tow us and still another reason is that we don't want to be accused of making off with a stranger's car," said Sam, and stopped for breath.

"Well, anyway, there's a sled—we can take that, can't we?" said Dot placidly.



CHAPTER XVII

MR. MENDAM

"Sled!" chorused all the other Blossoms. "Where is there a sled?"

Dot pointed to a drift at one side of the road. Sure enough, the runners of a sled were sticking straight out.

"Perhaps there is a little boy in there," Twaddles whispered, awe-struck, and Sam hooted with laughter.

"No little boy would stay quietly buried in a snow drift, Twaddles," said Sam. "But I begin to think this road is bewitched—we seem to be finding stray belongings every other yard or two."

The children hopped out over the side of the sleigh and pulled out the sled. It was a good sled, but not new; the paint was worn off it in patches and one of the runners was a little bent. It had the name in faint gilt letters across the top, "The King."

"Now what do you know about that?" said Sam. "What shall we do with the thing? It isn't yours, even if you did find it."

"But let's take it with us," Meg urged. "We can put up signs in the Fernwood post-office—the way they do in Oak Hill when anything is lost and found. You know how, Sam?"

"Bring it along, then," yielded Sam. "But after this we can't make any more stops; we'll be too late to get the freight if we dawdle and that happens to be what we were sent for."

Bobby lifted the sled into the sleigh and the four children settled down cozily again, under the warm blankets and robe. Sam did not seem to be cold—he had heavy gloves and he whistled cheerfully when he wasn't talking.

They were soon off the cross road and when they turned into the main highway, the going was much easier. There were many cars and a few other sleighs on this road and most of them were going toward Fernwood. The four little Blossoms had been to that town before, with their daddy in the car, and they knew where the post-office was. Meg wanted to go there first, but Sam was anxious to reach the freight station.

"Well, let us get out at the post-office," Bobby begged, always eager to do whatever Meg wanted done. "We can print the signs—or maybe the post-office man will. Then when you come back we'll be ready to go."

"Will you promise not to go away from the post-office, but wait for me there?" asked Sam.

The children promised and he stopped the sleigh before the high flight of steps that led to the post-office. It was a square wooden building and built on such a tall foundation that it looked as though it stood on stilts. The fire house was in the basement, but the engine, when there was a fire, went out of a door on the other side. You couldn't expect a fire engine to come out under those wooden steps and turn around to go to the fire.

Meg and Bobby carried the sled up the stairs and Twaddles carried the glove. Dot wished she had something to carry, but she found a way to be useful without that; she had to hold the door open for a stout old gentleman who came up directly behind them and who almost was knocked down the steps by the sled runners as Meg and Bobby tried to get it inside the doorway.

"Thank you," said the stout old gentleman to Dot as she clung to the heavy door. "You're a thoughtful little girl."

Once inside the post-office, the children found that it wasn't exactly like the office at Oak Hill. It was larger and the windows were so far from the floor that the twins couldn't see inside at all and Bobby had to stand on tiptoe to speak to the clerk.

"We found some things in the road," said Bobby, holding on to the little window shelf with both hands when the clerk who had heard them come in asked him what he wanted.

"We thought we could put them on the lost and found board," Meg added.

"What sort of things are they?" asked the clerk kindly.

"This sled," Bobby answered, while the stout old gentleman who was writing at the desk against the wall, looked up.

"And a glove," chimed in Twaddles and Dot importantly.

"Good gracious!" the stout old gentleman exclaimed and the clerk leaned closer to the window and shouted.

"Did you hear that, Mr. Mendam?" he called. "They found a glove—maybe it is the one you lost."

"It is, of course it is," Mr. Mendam replied, taking the glove from Twaddles and looking at it closely. "Where did you find it? Good gracious, I never was so pleased—never!"

They explained to him where they had found the glove and the stout old gentleman said it was one of a pair his daughter had just given him for his birthday. He was so evidently delighted to have recovered his glove that the four little Blossoms forgot the sled for a moment. Dot was the first to remember.

"Did you lose a sled, too?" she asked him eagerly.

"Or an automobile?" Twaddles suggested, quite as though people were in the habit of losing their automobiles.

"There's one stuck on the road," said Bobby.

The post-office clerk laughed and said that wasn't a lost car.

"It belongs to Mayor Pace, of Fernwood," he explained. "He couldn't get through last night and he left the car there. His son is going to tow it out this afternoon, I believe."

"About the sled—it isn't mine," said Mr. Mendam. "I think we'd better have that on the lost and found board. Do you want to write the notice?"

"We'd rather you did it," Bobby answered politely. "I can write, but some folks can't read it."

Mr. Mendam wrote busily on a sheet of paper and then read aloud what he had written.

"Found—a sled on the Hill Road," he read. "Finder may have same by describing and making application at the post-office window."

"There—we'll paste that up and the child who is short one sled may see it and get it back," said Mr. Mendam and he pasted the slip of paper on the bulletin board which hung over the desk where he had been writing.

"I'm pretty lucky to get my glove back, eh, Carter?" he said to the clerk. "Would you believe it, I was just going to write out a notice for the board myself, offering a reward for the return of it. And here it is placed in my hand. What do you think the reward should be, Carter?"

"Something pretty handsome, sir," answered the clerk, smiling.

The four little Blossoms looked uncomfortable.

"We don't want any reward, thank you, Mr. Mendam," said Bobby bravely. "We just found the glove lying in the snow—Twaddles found it."

"But I'd like to do something for you," the stout old gentleman insisted. "If you won't take a real reward—and I had intended offering ten dollars for the return of the glove—tell me something I can do for you."

"There's the fair," whispered Meg, but Mr. Mendam heard her.

"Fair?" he said briskly. "What fair? Where? Do you want me to come and buy things? Tell me where it is and I'll come and bring my daughter."

But when Meg rather shyly said the fair was to be given in Oak Hill and not for a week or two, Mr. Mendam shook his head.

"I'll be away then," he explained. "My daughter and I are going to Montreal for the winter sports. But why don't you let me give you the ten dollars for the fair? That will be just the same as though I had come there and bought that much."

Meg looked uncertainly at Bobby.

"Maybe Mother won't like it," she said.

But Bobby was sure she wouldn't care and when he told Mr. Mendam about Paul Jordan and his mother and that the fair was for them, Mr. Mendam, too, was sure Mother Blossom wouldn't mind.

"You put this in your pocket," he told Bobby, handing him a folded bill. "Mind you don't lose it. And if your mother, for any reason, isn't willing for you to keep it, you may send it back and I will not be offended."

Bobby put the money away carefully, down deep in his pocket, and then Mr. Mendam said he was thirsty and wouldn't they go with him to the drug store and have an ice-cream soda?

"I never saw a day too cold for ice-cream soda—did you?" he added, smiling.

"We promised Sam to stay here till he came for us," Meg explained regretfully, for she was very fond of soda.

"He won't be long, will he?" said Mr. Mendam. "I'll wait with you."

And wait he did, till the sound of jingling sleigh bells announced that Sam was at the door. The sleigh was filled with boxes, tied on to keep them from falling off, and there was just a little space left for the children.

Sam was surprised to see them come down the steps with a stranger with them, and more surprised to hear that he was the owner of the glove and that the "reward" was to go to Paul Jordan and that the four little Blossoms had been invited to the drug store for a treat.

"Things just seem to happen to you, wherever you are," said Sam. "I wish I could lead as exciting a life as you do."

Mr. Mendam insisted that he must come with them and Sam tied the horse and went. The four little Blossoms had a wonderful time, choosing their favorite sodas and for once no one said the twins were too young to have whatever they chose. Mr. Mendam wandered off before they had all quite finished and when he came back, he had a pile of small boxes under his arm.

"Something to eat on the way home," he said, handing a box to each child.

"Candy!" cried Twaddles blissfully. "It's just like Christmas!"

Sam had tied the sleigh in front of the drug store and when they came out, Mr. Mendam helped him tuck the children in between the boxes and the seat and cover them up carefully.

"I wouldn't have lost that glove for a good deal," he told them, as Sam was ready to start. "I value gifts from my daughter highly. Good-bye and good luck to your fair."

"Oh, wait!" Dot wailed as Sam drove off. "Wait a minute, Sam; I want to ask him something!"



CHAPTER XVIII

AT LAST THE FAIR

"We're late now," said the long-suffering Sam. "What do you want to ask Mr. Mendam, Dot? Hurry up."

Mr. Mendam was still standing on the curb and Dot leaned out of the sleigh to call to him.

"I wish I could know who the sled belongs to," she said earnestly. "If a little girl owns it, will you let me know? Or a little boy—please?"

"I'll write you and tell you," Mr. Mendam promised. "Of course you're interested; I won't forget, Dot."

You see, he knew them quite well by this time—their names and ages and what they did at home and in school. He was another friend, as Meg told her mother when she reached home.

Sam said he hoped they could get home without any more exciting events, and he had his wish. Good old Walter trotted along sedately and the extra load made the sleigh slip along more evenly. They did not go through the cross road, but kept to the good roads all the way and almost before the four little Blossoms knew it, they saw the lights twinkling from their house.

"Did you eat your candy?" asked Sam as he helped them out, before driving on to the foundry with the boxes.

"Meg said to save it for Mother and Daddy and Aunt Polly and Norah, so we did," Bobby explained. "They didn't have any sodas."

You may be sure they had a great deal to tell as soon as they were inside the house and when Bobby pulled out the money Mr. Mendam had given him, they were all surprised. Instead of one ten dollar bill, there were two, and Father Blossom said it would pay almost two months rent for Mrs. Jordan. Mother Blossom was quite willing for them to keep the money—since it was not for themselves—and she promised to write Mr. Mendam a note of thanks. She did the very next morning and it crossed a letter from him to Dot, telling her that the sled had been claimed by a little girl whose farmer father had let it fall out of his wagon on the way home from the creamery and never missed it. The little girl's cousin, who had outgrown the sled, had sent it to her and she was very glad to have it found.

"Isn't supper ready?" asked Bobby hungrily, when they had told everything that had happened to them that afternoon.

"Ready and waiting for you," answered his mother. "But first there is something on the table in the living-room for you to look at. You especially, Meg."

The twins, who had been prevented from telling only by main force, rushed in with Meg and Bobby. There on the table, under the light of the lamp, lay Meg's lost locket!

"Oh, Mother!" shrieked Meg. "Mother! Where did it come from? Who found it? Where was it? And it isn't hurt a bit, is it?"

"Paul Jordan found it," said Dot, with satisfaction. "And Daddy's going to give you the reward to give him. It was in the snow all this time. Paul was digging out the gutter 'longside the road 'cause he thought maybe it might thaw. And he found it."

"How perfectly lovely!" exclaimed Meg, her face bright with pleasure. "Now I'll put it in the velvet box, and never, never wear it again only when Mother says to. Aren't you glad, Aunt Polly?"

"Yes indeed, darling," answered Aunt Polly, as Meg threw her arms around her.

It was lucky Meg couldn't look forward and see when she would wear the locket the next time, or she would never have been able to eat her good supper so quietly. But she didn't know, and you will have to wait with her till you meet the four little Blossoms in another book.

After the news spread about that Meg's locket had been found and that Paul Jordan had found it for her, the children were more interested than ever in the play and the fair which were to earn money for him and his mother. Poor Paul had been in bed since the finding of the locket, for digging in the snow had been work that was too heavy for him, and his lame leg pained him more than usual. Meg went to see him with Father Blossom and took him the ten dollars reward, which he was very glad to get.

When the Saturday afternoon for the fair came, the Blossom house was crowded. The fair tables were arranged in the living-room, and Norah stood at the door to take the tickets. Aunt Polly had printed these, and one of them and ten cents entitled the holder to "walk in and look around." Another ten cents would entitle the visitor to a reserved seat for the stuffed animal play.

They had the fair first, because in order to put in the chairs for the audience for the play, it would be necessary to remove the tables. In just exactly an hour and a half from the time the fair opened, every single thing was sold, cake, ice-cream, lemonade, fancy-work-table things, and all.

"Gee!" said Bobby, preparing to help Sam carry out his table, "I wonder how much we made?"

"Oh, ever so much," guessed Dot. "Doctor Maynard bought the pink pincushion, and I didn't know how much change to give him, an' he said never mind, he'd forgotten how arithmetic went. Did you see Miss Mason, Meg?"

"Yes. And she's going to stay for the play. And Mr. Carter, too," said Meg. "Maybe we'll feel funny playing with them watching us."

"No such thing!" Bobby was positive about it. "Anyway," he added, weakening, "we'll have on our animal cases."

With much talk and laughter, the room was finally cleared. Mother Blossom had managed to save some ice-cream for the players, and they had this in great state in the kitchen while Sam was putting in the chairs for the audience. Then Aunt Polly came out and swept every child who was to take part into the dining-room, and said they must all get into their costumes.

The living-room was long—it had once been two rooms—and a part of it had been reserved for the stage. Aunt Polly didn't bother with scenery, and yet no one had any difficulty in recognizing the first scene when two of the children jerked back the portiere curtains.

"Well, what do you know about that!" said a surprised father right out loud.

It was the story of the Three Bears they were playing, and there they all were, the Big Bear and the Middle-Sized Bear and the Littlest Bear, with their bowls of porridge and their beds made by putting two chairs together.

"Isn't that great!" said Miss Mason, when the curtain was pulled together again. She was so excited she never noticed she had used slang. "Who was the cunning littlest bear?"

"Dot and Twaddles," Father Blossom informed her proudly. "But wait till you see the next."

"A Day at the Zoo" came next, and Aunt Polly had planned this to give each child a chance to play. There were six animals on the stage—five besides the cinnamon bear that was Dot and Twaddles—a lion, a tiger, a polar bear, a great flapping seal, and a zebra.

Each animal came forward and made a polite little bow, then recited some verses about what he thought of life in the Zoo.

When it came the polar bear's turn, he ambled to the front of the stage with an easy lope that convulsed the audience and started off bravely with this verse, which you may have heard before. Perhaps your mother knew it when she was a little girl:

"I'm a poor little bear, I belong to the show, I stand here and sulk, but it's naughty, I know. They want me to bow, to behave very nice, But I long to go home and sleep on the ice."

The polar bear, wagging his red flannel tongue, recited very nicely till he came to the last line. Then a big sneeze suddenly shook him.

"Oh, dear!" said part of him, most distinctly.

And another section of him piped up quickly, "Please excuse me!"

The audience clapped and clapped and laughed. They wanted the polar bear to recite again, but he backed off and refused to come out. So they drew the curtains together again and opened them in a few minutes for the lion and the tiger to dance a pretty little waltz for which Aunt Polly played the music. Then the entertainment was over.

The animals, still in their covers, as Meg called them, came down among the audience and received many congratulations on their performance.

"I never enjoyed anything more in my life!" Mr. Carter assured Bobby, smiling as though something had pleased him very much.

Mother Blossom had asked all the players to stay for supper, and after the guests had gone twelve boys and girls sat down at the big, round table and enjoyed Norah's sandwiches and bouillon and more ice-cream and cake.

"Just like a birthday," said Dot, trying not to show that she was sleepy.

"Better than a birthday," replied Aunt Polly, coming into the room with a box in her hand. "I've counted the money, honeys, because I know you are all eager to know how much you have for poor Mrs. Jordan and her son Paul. Suppose you guess?"

"Ten dollars?" ventured Meg.

"Eleven?" said Bobby.

"Fifteen?" shouted the twins recklessly, guessing from Aunt Polly's face that Meg and Bobby were wrong.

"Twenty-three dollars and fifty cents," said Aunt Polly, shaking the box happily. "I think that is a good deal for twelve little people to make for such an entertainment."

"Isn't that splendid!" sighed Marion Green. "That will pay the rent for their house for more than a month, I guess."

"Maybe they can buy a new house with it," said Twaddles hopefully.

Which made everybody laugh.



THE END