Philip, who sat beside Sam on the front seat, wagged his tail conversationally.

“Maybe we’ll have another snow fight,” suggested Meg.  “That would be fun, wouldn’t it, Bobby?”

“No, it wouldn’t,” snapped Bobby ungraciously.  For the life of him, he did not seem able to feel pleasant.

Meg talked to Father Blossom and Sam after that, and in a few moments they were set down at the school, and the car rolled on to the foundry office.

Bobby had bad luck—­bad luck or something else—­all the morning.  He blotted his copy book; he had the wrong answer to the example he was sent to work out at the board; at recess he was so cross to Palmer Davis that that devoted friend slapped him and they had a tussle that ended in both being forced to spend the remainder of the play time sitting quietly at two front desks under Miss Mason’s eye.  Altogether Bobby seemed to be in for a bad day.

“Everybody’s so mean,” he scolded, going off in a corner by himself to eat his lunch at noon.  “I never saw such a lot of horrid folks.”

To add to his unhappiness, Norah had forgotten that he didn’t like tuna fish sandwiches and had given him all that kind.  Bobby knew that very likely she had packed egg or some other good mixture in Meg’s box and that by merely asking he could trade with his sister.  But no, it suited him to feel that Norah had deliberately spoiled his lunch for him.

“Robert, you haven’t been out of the room this morning,” cried Miss Mason, swooping down on him.  “Go out and get some fresh air and see if you can’t be pleasanter this afternoon.  What you need is to play in the snow.”

Bobby dashed downstairs and out into the yard, wishing violently that he could punch some one.  He even rolled several snowballs in the hope that some of his friends would come along and offer themselves as targets.  Then a mischievous idea popped into his mind.

“I’ll fill up Miss Mason’s desk,” he chuckled.  “She needs to play in the snow, too.”

This very bad boy proceeded to fill his arms with snowballs and stole up the back stairway, where he would be less likely to meet any one, into his classroom.  The room was empty, and Bobby arranged his snowballs neatly in Miss Mason’s desk, which happened to be an old-fashioned affair with a hinged lid.

“She can play with it,” murmured Bobby, closing the lid softly and running downstairs again so that he might come in with the others when the bell rang.

It had stopped snowing, and the sun was shining warm and bright, dazzling to the eyes.  Bobby felt better already, for some mysterious reason, and he plunged into a hilarious game of tag that lasted until the signal rang.

When he went into his classroom he glanced quickly at Miss Mason’s desk.  It looked as usual, and when the reading lesson was given out, he quickly forgot the hidden snowballs.  Palmer Davis was standing up to read a paragraph when the class first heard something.