“He’s a beauty, isn’t he?” said Mother Blossom enthusiastically.  “We’ll keep him there to guard our yard as long as the snow lasts.  You haven’t built him where he will bother Norah when she wants to hang out clothes, have you?”

The four little Blossoms were sure they had not; and Norah herself, when she came to the door presently to have a peep at the wonderful snow man, declared that he wouldn’t be in her way at all.

“’Tis fresh cookies I’ve been baking,” she announced smilingly.  “I don’t suppose any one will be after wanting to sample ’em?  Ye do?  Well, then, wipe your feet on the mat and come in.  And, for the love of goodness, leave the kitchen door open.  I’m near perishing for a breath of cool air.”

The kitchen was very warm, for Norah had been ironing.  She was a thrifty soul, and when she had a big fire to heat her irons she liked to bake good things to eat in the oven at the same time.  A basket full of beautifully ironed and starched clothes sat on the table, ready to be carried upstairs, and a bowl of crisp sugar cookies sat beside it.

“Leave the door open,” ordered Bobby, his eyes on the cookies.  “My, they look good, Norah.  How many may we have?”

“Two apiece, and no more,” said Norah firmly. “’Tis blunting your appetite for supper if ye take more than two.  Are they good, Twaddles?”

Twaddles’ mouth was too full for an answer, but his eyes spoke for him.  Those cookies were simply delicious.

“Bobby!” cried Meg from the window where she had wandered with her cakes.  “Oh, Bobby, here’s that horrid Tim Roon and Charlie Black.  Look!  They’re going to throw snowballs at our snow man.”

There was a rush for the window.  Sure enough there stood Tim Roon and Charlie Black, just outside the fence, and as the four little Blossoms watched, Tim flung a snowball smack at the poor defenseless snow man.

“Leave ’em alone,” counseled Norah, putting a restraining hand on Twaddles, who was making for the door.  “As long as ’tis only the snow man they’re aiming at, let ’em be.”

But as Norah spoke, whiz! through the kitchen door came a big snowball.  It landed right on top of the basket of wash, and lay wet and dirty on top of a ruffled guimpe of Dot’s.

“The dirty ragamuffins!” The angry Norah snatched the slushy ball and flung it into the coal-scuttle.  “The miserable spalpeens!”

Bobby seized his cap.

“I’ll fix them!” he muttered, as he dashed out of the house.

Tim Roon and Charlie Black saw him coming, and they judged that it would be better to run.  They didn’t want to fight Bobby, even two to one, so close to his own house.  Some one might come out and help him.

The two boys tore up the street, Bobby after them.  Unfortunately, Bobby ran head-first into an old gentleman who, before he let him go, collared him and read him a lecture on the rights of people in the street.  This gave Tim and Charlie a chance to hide behind some bushes on a vacant lot.