There was a sudden rush for the window and Meg and Twaddles and Dot
armed themselves with handfuls of snow. Dot made for Twaddles, for she
saw more chance of being able to capture him, and Bobby had designs on
Meg.

"Glory be! Where to now?" Norah's cry came from the pantry as four
pairs of stout shoes thundered through her kitchen and up the back
stairs. Norah, if the children had stopped long enough to hear, would
have told them that she had hurried home to start supper after seeing
the "episode" of the serial picture she was interested in at the motion
picture house.

Dot sounded like a husky young Indian as she hurled herself upon
Twaddles in the center of Aunt Polly's carefully made bed in the
guest-room and rubbed what was left of her handful of snow into his
eyes and mouth.

"My, it's wet," he sputtered. "Let go, Dot! Ow! you're standing on my
finger."

Meg had dashed into her mother's room, and, banging the door in Bobby's
face, turned the key. She was safe!

Bobby had no intention of being defeated. When he heard the key turn
in the door he looked about for a way to outwit Meg. He might be able
to climb through the transom if he could get a ladder or a chair.

His own room was next to his mother's, and, turning in there to get a
chair, he saw the window. It opened on the roof of the porch, as did