Meg had narrowly missed a tree Saturday afternoon, and after that Dot
had shut her eyes tight every time they went down the hill.

"You go too fast," she complained now.

Meg looked at her little sister, genuinely surprised.

"Why, you have to go fast," she said. "You can't stop the sled after
you get to going. And if you did all the others would run into you.
Come on, Dot, you'll like it after the first ride."

By this time Bobby and Twaddles, rosy and panting, had reached the top
of the hill.

"The snow's packed fine," said Bobby enthusiastically. "What are you
waiting for, Meg? Feet cold?"

"No, they're warm enough," answered Meg, absently stamping her feet in
the snow to prove it. "Dot's afraid."

"I am not!" cried Dot indignantly. "I just said Meg went too fast."

"And she wanted to know if I could steer," said Meg scornfully.
"There's nothing to steering, is there, Bobby?"

"Well, of course, you have to be careful," answered Bobby. "Suppose I
take Dot down? Want to go with me?"

Dot nodded.