When Bert got home he was all out of breath, and his legs trembled so he
could scarcely stand. Nan had just arrived and the family were preparing
to sit down to lunch.

"Why, Bert, why do you run so hard?" protested his mother. "You must not
do it. If you breathe in so much cold air, you may take cold."

"Oh, I--I'm all right," he panted, and started to drop into his seat,
but Mrs. Bobbsey made him go up to the bathroom and wash up and comb his
hair.

Poor Bert was in a fever of anxiety all through the meal. Every instant
he expected to hear the front door bell ring, and find there a policeman
to take him to the station house. He could scarcely eat a mouthful.

"What's the matter? Do you feel sick?" asked the father.

"No, I'm not sick," he answered.

"You play altogether too hard. Take it easy. The snow will last a long
time," went on Mr. Bobbsey.

After lunch Bert did not dare to go back to school. But he could think
of no excuse for staying home and at last set off in company with Nan.
He looked around for Danny, but the big lad did not show himself.

"What's the matter with you, Bert?" questioned his twin sister, as they
trudged along.

"Nothing is the matter, Nan."