Produced by Al Haines
FOUR LITTLE BLOSSOMS AND THEIR WINTER FUN
BY
MABEL C. HAWLEY
AUTHOR OF "FOUR LITTLE BLOSSOMS AT BROOKSIDE FARM," "FOUR LITTLE
BLOSSOMS AT OAK HILL SCHOOL," ETC.
THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY
Akron, Ohio New York
Copyright MCMXX
THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY
Four Little Blossoms and Their Winter Fun
Made in the United States of America
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I THE FIRST SNOW-STORM
II BOBBY IS RESCUED
III AUNT DOROTHY'S LOCKET
IV WHEN THE BOBSLED UPSET
V MEG IN TROUBLE
VI THE ORANGE AND THE BLACK
VII A BIRTHDAY PARTY
VIII DOWN ON THE POND
IX A NEW KIND OF JAM
X WORKING FOR THE FAIR
XI BOBBY'S MEANEST DAY
XII BUILDING A SNOW MAN
XIII THE TWINS HAVE A SECRET
XIV LOST IN THE STORM
XV GREAT PREPARATIONS
XVI OVER THE CROSS ROAD
XVII MR. MENDAM
XVIII AT LAST THE FAIR
FOUR LITTLE BLOSSOMS AND THEIR WINTER FUN
CHAPTER I
THE FIRST SNOW-STORM
"Where's Mother?" Meg and Bobby Blossom demanded the moment they opened
the front door.
It was the first question they always asked when they came home from
school.
Twaddles, their little brother, looked up at them serenely from the
sofa cushion on which he sat cross-legged on the floor at the foot of
the hall stairs.
"Mother and Aunt Polly went uptown," he informed his brother and
sister. "They're going to bring us something nice. They promised."
Meg pulled off her hat and unbuttoned her coat.
"I'm starving," she announced. "It's awfully cold out. What are you
doing anyway, Twaddles?"
"Sliding down the banisters," answered Twaddles calmly. "See, we
spread down sofa cushions so 's we wouldn't hurt ourselves. It's Dot's
turn now. Hi, Dot!" he ended in a shout.
"Here I come--look out!" With a swish of pink gingham skirt a small,
plump little girl came flying down the banister to land luckily on a
red satin sofa cushion ready to receive her.
"Well, I must say," announced Meg with dignity, "that's a fine way to
do--using Mother's best sofa cushions! Where's Norah?"
"Gone to the movies," replied Dot, pushing the hair out of her eyes and
smiling sunnily. "She waited till she saw you turn the corner, 'cause
she said she wouldn't leave us alone."
Twaddles, who had been pressing his short nose against the glass in the
door panel hoping to see his mother coming with the promised gift,
suddenly wheeled and tried to stand on his head. That was Twaddles'
way of expressing delight. "It's snowing!" he cried. "Little fine
snowflakes, the kind that Daddy says always last. Oh, I hope we have
coasting. I'll bet it snows all night."
"You said that Thanksgiving," retorted Bobby gloomily, "and it just
snowed enough to cover the ground one night and melted 'fore we were up
the next morning. And here it is January, and it hasn't snowed since."
"'Sides the sled is busted," agreed Twaddles mournfully, quite willing
to be melancholy if some one would show him the way. "Even if it did
snow, we couldn't have any fun without a sled."
"I guess we can mend it, maybe," interposed Meg cheerfully. "I'm going
out and get some bread and peanut butter. Who wants some?"
They all did, it seemed, even Dot and Twaddles, who were too young to
go to school, but who managed to have famous appetites as regularly as
the older children. Mother Blossom allowed them to have what Norah
called a "snack" every afternoon after school, and Meg was always
careful to see that they ate only the things permitted and that no one
dipped into the cake box.
"Look how white!" cried Dot, finishing her bread and butter first, and
kneeling on a kitchen chair to see out of the window. "The ground is
all covered already and you can see feetsteps."
"Footsteps," corrected Bobby, taking a last large bite of his lunch.
"Shoesteps," insisted Meg, closing the pantry door and putting away the
bread.
"That isn't a shoestep," argued Bobby, pointing to a particularly clear
and distinct print in the snow just outside the window.
"'Tis, too," scolded Meg. "That's where Sam went out to the garage."
"'Tisn't a shoestep, 'tisn't a shoestep!" chanted Bobby, bent on
teasing.
Meg's fair face flushed. She was exasperated.
"What is it, then?" she snapped.
Bobby measured the distance to the hall door.
"A rubberstep!" he shouted triumphantly. "Sam wore his rubbers! Yah!"
"You think you're smart!" said Meg, half laughing and half frowning.
"Just you wait, Bobby Blossom!"
She darted for him, but Bobby was too quick. He dashed out into the
hall, Meg following, and Dot and Twaddles trailing after them.
Shrieking and shouting, the four raced into the dining-room, tore twice
around the table, then into the long living-room, where Meg managed to
corner Bobby under the old-fashioned square piano.
They had forgotten to be angry by this time, and after she had tickled
him till he begged for mercy--Bobby was extremely ticklish--they
crawled out again, disheveled and panting, and were ready for something
new.
"I'm going to get some snow," declared Dot, beginning to raise one of
the windows.
"Don't! You'll freeze Mother's plants," warned Meg. "Dot Blossom,
don't you dare open that window!"
For answer Dot gave a final push and the sash shot up and locked half
way.
"Oh, it's love-ly!" cried Dot, leaning out and scooping up a handful of
the beautiful, soft, white stuff. "Just like feathers, Meg."
"You'll be a feather if you don't come in," growled Bobby sternly.
"Look out!"
Dot, leaning out further to sweep the sill clean, had slipped and was
going headlong when Bobby grasped her skirts. He pulled her back,
unhurt, except for a scratch on her nose from a bit of the vine
clinging to the house wall and a ruffled disposition.
"You leave me alone!" she blazed. "You've hurt my knee."
"Want to fall on your head?" demanded Bobby, justly indignant. "All
right, if that's the way you feel about it, I'll give you something to
be mad about."
Before the surprised Dot could protest, he had seized her firmly around
the neck and, holding her tightly (Bobby was very sturdy for his seven
years), he proceeded to wash her face with a handful of snow he hastily
scooped from the window sill. Dot was furious, but, though she
struggled and squirmed, she could not get free.
"Now you'll be good," said Bobby, giving her a sounding kiss as he let
her go, for he was very fond of his headstrong little sister. "Want
your face washed, Twaddles?"
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
the windows in his mother's room. What could be simpler than to walk
along the roof of the porch, raise a window and get in? He could
gather up more snow, too, as he went along, and just wouldn't he wash
Meg's face for her!
"What you going to do?" asked Twaddles, as Bobby hoisted his window.
Dot and Twaddles, tiring of their own fracas, had come in search of Meg
and Bobby.
"You wait and you'll see," answered Bobby mysteriously, putting one leg
over the sill.
Dot and Twaddles crowded into the open window to watch him as he picked
his way along. There was a linen closet between the two rooms, so
Bobby had some space to cover before he came to the windows of the room
where Meg was hiding.
"My goodness!" whispered that small girl to herself, parting the white
curtains to look out as she heard footsteps on the porch roof. "He
might fall; it's ever so slippery!"
It was slippery; in fact, the roof was much harder to walk on than
Bobby had suspected. For one thing, the roof sloped, and he had to
cling to the side of the house as he walked; then, too, the fine
driving snow almost blinded him; and a third reason that made it hard
going was the way the snow caked and clung to his shoes.
He had reached the window where Meg was waiting, so interested in
watching him that she had forgotten why he was coming, and he stooped
for a handful of fresh snow. Meg grinned cheerfully at him as he
straightened up.
"I'll let you in," she called through the glass, beginning to push up
the window.
Bobby reached out to get a good grip on the window frame, missed the
ledge and lost his balance. His foot slipped as he threw out his arms
to save himself.