in a shout.

"Here I come--look out!" With a swish of pink gingham skirt a small,
plump little girl came flying down the banister to land luckily on a
red satin sofa cushion ready to receive her.

"Well, I must say," announced Meg with dignity, "that's a fine way to
do--using Mother's best sofa cushions! Where's Norah?"

"Gone to the movies," replied Dot, pushing the hair out of her eyes and
smiling sunnily. "She waited till she saw you turn the corner, 'cause
she said she wouldn't leave us alone."

Twaddles, who had been pressing his short nose against the glass in the
door panel hoping to see his mother coming with the promised gift,
suddenly wheeled and tried to stand on his head. That was Twaddles'
way of expressing delight. "It's snowing!" he cried. "Little fine
snowflakes, the kind that Daddy says always last. Oh, I hope we have
coasting. I'll bet it snows all night."

"You said that Thanksgiving," retorted Bobby gloomily, "and it just
snowed enough to cover the ground one night and melted 'fore we were up
the next morning. And here it is January, and it hasn't snowed since."

"'Sides the sled is busted," agreed Twaddles mournfully, quite willing
to be melancholy if some one would show him the way. "Even if it did
snow, we couldn't have any fun without a sled."

"I guess we can mend it, maybe," interposed Meg cheerfully. "I'm going
out and get some bread and peanut butter. Who wants some?"

They all did, it seemed, even Dot and Twaddles, who were too young to
go to school, but who managed to have famous appetites as regularly as
the older children. Mother Blossom allowed them to have what Norah
called a "snack" every afternoon after school, and Meg was always
careful to see that they ate only the things permitted and that no one
dipped into the cake box.

"Look how white!" cried Dot, finishing her bread and butter first, and
kneeling on a kitchen chair to see out of the window. "The ground is
all covered already and you can see feetsteps."

"Footsteps," corrected Bobby, taking a last large bite of his lunch.

"Shoesteps," insisted Meg, closing the pantry door and putting away the
bread.

"That isn't a shoestep," argued Bobby, pointing to a particularly clear
and distinct print in the snow just outside the window.

"'Tis, too," scolded Meg. "That's where Sam went out to the garage."

"'Tisn't a shoestep, 'tisn't a shoestep!" chanted Bobby, bent on
teasing.

Meg's fair face flushed.