flew, Meg's small hands steering capably, Twaddles' right foot prodding
her as enthusiastically as ever. Dot clung a little tighter to Bobby
and gasped with cold air and delight.

They were almost at the end of the coast when a loud roar of laughter
made them look back. A few rods behind, Tim and Charlie had upset, Tim
falling head over heels into the snow at the side of the road and
Charlie tumbling almost directly into the path of a coming sled. The
boy steering, however, managed to swing out and avoid the limp and
flattened Charles.

"Some spill," commented Bobby, using the slang he was learning in the
school yard and putting out his foot as a brake, bringing his own sled
to a standstill. "I'll bet that torn piece of runner caught on
something."

They stood for a moment watching Charlie crawl out of the road and Tim
scrambling out of the snow. Then they walked slowly up the hill for a
last grand coast.

"'Cause it's getting dark," said Meg, "and Mother said we must come in
at five o'clock. Let's ask Dave what time it is."

"Twenty minutes to five," said Dave, when they asked him. "Want to go
down on the bob?"

"Oh, Bobby, can we?" Meg clapped her hands with delight. "I've never
been on one. Come on, let's."

"What'll we do with our sleds?" asked Bobby doubtfully.