His cry, as he broke through, was heard by every one on the pond.

“He’ll be drowned!” wailed Meg.  “Oh, Bobby, hurry!”

“He can’t drown in that water.  It isn’t deep,” said a man, skating past them and stopping to, reassure Meg.  “Come on, youngster, you and I can get him out.”

Bobby put his hand into that of the stranger and was pulled along rapidly toward the spot where the howling Twaddles stood in icy water up to his knees.

CHAPTER IX

A NEW KIND OF JAM

As the man said, there was no danger that Twaddles would be drowned.  Cold and wet and miserable, he certainly was, but the stranger rescued him easily, stretching out a long, thin arm across the ice and lifting the boy bodily out of the water, over the thin ice, and on to thick, firm foothold.

“There, there, you’re just as good as ever,” he assured the shivering Twaddles.  “You want to run home as fast as you can go and get into dry shoes and stockings, and then you won’t ever know you fell into the pond.  Scoot, now!”

But Twaddles delayed.

“Is it—­is it—­four o’clock?” he asked, his teeth chattering.  “Mother said we could stay out till four o’clock.”

“It’s five minutes after four,” announced the stranger, consulting his watch.  “You’ll have to run every step of the way to make up for lost time.  Run!”

Dot, of course, would run with Twaddles, and Meg and Bobby promised to return the sled to Marion.  They had to walk all the way around the pond to get it for her.

“I fell in,” said Twaddles beamingly, when he and Dot reached home.

Mother and Aunt Polly rubbed him dry and had him in dry stockings and sandals in a hurry, and then Aunt Polly and Dot decided to walk uptown and match some wool for the sweater auntie was finishing.  Twaddles wanted to go, but Mother Blossom decided he had done enough for that day and had better stay at home with her.

“What are you doing, Mother?” asked Twaddles, watching her curiously, after his sister and aunt had gone down the walk.  “Could I do that?”

“Now, Twaddles, you’ve seen me fill my fountain pen hundreds of times,” answered Mother Blossom patiently.  “You always ask me that, and you know I can’t have you spilling ink all over my desk.  Run away and find something pleasant to do till I finish this letter, and then we’ll toast marshmallows over the fire.”

Twaddles set out to amuse himself.  He wished he had Philip to play with, but the dog was out in the garage and Twaddles had been forbidden to make the journey through the snow in his sandals.  To be sure there was Annabel Lee, but the cat was in a sleepy mood and refused to wake up sufficiently to be amusing.

“Oh, dear,” sighed Twaddles.  “There’s nothing to do.  I wonder where Norah is?”

He scuttled down to the kitchen, which was in beautiful order, but no Norah was in sight She was up in her room changing her dress, but Twaddles did not know that.