your pocket?"

"Paste, Flossie! What good would paste be to fasten on your skate?"

"I don't know, but it might do _some_ good. I can't make the strap hold it
on any more," and a plump little girl shook back her flaxen, curling hair,
which had slipped from under her cap and was blowing into her eyes, sat
down on a log near the shore of the frozen lake and looked sorrowfully at
the shining skate which had become loosened from her shoe.

"Come on, Flossie!" called the small, plump boy, just about the size of
his sister, and with her same kind of light hair and blue eyes. "There go
Bert, Nan and Tommy Todd 'way ahead of us. We'll never catch up to 'em if
you sit here. Come on!"

"I can't help sitting here, Freddie Bobbsey! How am I going to skate on
only one skate?" asked the little girl.

"Put on the other, and come along."

"I have put it on, lots of times, but it comes off every time I skate a
little bit. That's why I want some paste. Maybe I could paste the strap
fast around my shoe."

"I don't believe you could, Flossie," and this time the small, plump boy
stopped skating around in a ring--"grinding the bar," as it is called--and
glided toward his sister seated on the log. "Anyhow, I haven't any paste.
What made you think I had?"

"Oh, you carry so much stuff in your pockets I thought maybe you'd have