This cap was an old one Father Blossom had worn on hunting trips when a young man.  It was several sizes too large for Bobby, and made him look like a British Grenadier, but he thought it was the finest cap in the world.  He liked to wear it when playing in the snow because it was warm.

“It’s in the blue box on your closet shelf,” answered Meg.  She was an orderly little sister, and the boys counted on her help to remind them where they had left their things.

“Meg!” This time the call came from Norah, who was putting away clean sheets in the linen closet.  “Down on the kitchen table I left four drop cakes—­one apiece for ye.  Your mother said ’twas all right.”

“Meg!  Bobby!  Hurry up!” shrieked the twins.

Bobby crammed his cap on his head and dashed down the front stairs.  Meg seized her clean handkerchief, ran to the kitchen and got the cakes and went out by way of the back door.

“Thought you were never coming,” grumbled Twaddles.  “Cake, Meg?”

“One for you.  One for Dot,” said Meg dividing, and giving Bobby his.  “Now aren’t you sorry you were cross?”

“He wasn’t,” Dot assured her; the twins had a way of standing up for each other.  “He was just afraid the others would use up all the snow ’fore we got there.”

Really, there didn’t seem to be much danger of that.  Wayne Place hill was alive with coasters when the four little Blossoms reached it.  The snow was still deep and soft on the sides, and packed hard and smooth in the center of the road.

“Here comes a bob!” cried Bobby, as the children began their walk up.  “Look how she goes!  Dave Saunders is steering.”

The big sled shot past them, filled with high-school boys and girls.

“Ours is just as nice,” said sunny-tempered Meg, catching Twaddles in a wistful stare.

CHAPTER IV

WHEN THE BOBSLED UPSET

“Our sleds are ever so much nicer,” declared Bobby sturdily.  “Bobs are no fun, Twaddles.  You can’t see a thing ’less you’re steering.  Come on now; we’re going down.”

Bobby took his place on the sled, Twaddles grasped the belt of his coat tightly, and Meg pushed.  Away they went!

“Hurry up, Dot,” cried Meg excitedly.  “Let’s get down before they start to walk up.”

“Can you steer it?” asked Dot cautiously.

“What a question!” Meg was indignant.  “Didn’t I steer it all day Saturday, silly?”

But Dot, for some reason, did not want to coast.  To tell the truth, Meg had narrowly missed a tree Saturday afternoon, and after that Dot had shut her eyes tight every time they went down the hill.

“You go too fast,” she complained now.

Meg looked at her little sister, genuinely surprised.

“Why, you have to go fast,” she said.  “You can’t stop the sled after you get to going.  And if you did all the others would run into you.  Come on, Dot, you’ll like it after the first ride.”