"Come on," sang out Joel, who had paid his respects in a flying fashion
to Grandpapa's sofa, and leaping the stairs. "Goodness me, Alexia, I
should think you did spill this frost. Why didn't you go over more
ground?"

"I don't believe we can save one bit," mourned Alexia, peering up the
stair-length, each step sparkling with myriad little frosty gems, as if
Jack Frost himself had sprinkled it with a Christmas hand. "Oh, dear,
why did you come in with such a noise, Joe Pepper?"

"Just like a girl," said Joel; "jumps at everything and drops whatever
she has in her hand. You all go up the other stairs; I'll sweep this in
a minute, and save what I can."

"Oh, Joe, don't stop; we want you for the Tree," begged Polly. "Phronsie
has been waiting downstairs all this time for you to come. Let one of
the maids do it;" Joe already had his head in a closet he knew of old,
opening into the big hall.

"Give me the broom," said a voice close beside him.

"Eh--what?" cried Joel, pulling out what he wanted--a soft floor brush.
"Oh, is that you, Loughead?" turning around.

"I believe so," said Jack, laughing. "Here, give me the broom. I'm no
help about a Tree; I'll have the stuff up there soon," and before Joel
knew it, he was racing over the back stairs, wondering how it was he had
let that disagreeable Jack Loughead get hold of that broom.