“Just a little way,” Twaddles replied earnestly.  “I want to go get it, Sam.  Please.  It’s a good glove.”

“I suppose it is a worn-out mitten, but this is your trip, partly,” said Sam, who was kindness itself and usually did all he could to make the four little Blossoms happy.  “So run along, but if you’re not back in an hour I am going on without you.”

Twaddles laughed and Bobby helped him down.  They watched him running down the road, a small, sturdy figure, dark against all that whiteness.

“He’s got it!” cried Dot, as Twaddles stooped and picked something up.  “Twaddles sees everything!”

Her twin did not run all the way back, because he couldn’t.  It was hard going in the snow and his feet slipped.  Besides, he was almost out of breath.

“It’s a good glove,” the others heard him saying as he came within speaking distance.  “It’s a very good glove and somebody lost it.”

Bobby and Meg pulled him back into the sleigh and he held out the glove for them to see.  Sam Layton whistled in surprise when he examined it.

“Well, Twaddles, you were right and I was wrong,” he said.  “This is a good glove; it’s fur lined and almost new.  Somebody is out of luck—­one glove is about as useless as one shoe lace.”

“Maybe we’ll find the man,” Twaddles declared placidly.

“You believe in luck, don’t you?” said Sam, starting the horse on his way again.  “That glove must have been dropped from some wagon or car and probably last night.  I think we’re the first folks through here to-day.”

Bobby wanted to know how Sam could tell and when it was pointed out to him that there were no tracks through the snow, he understood at once.

“Wouldn’t it be nice if we found the other glove?” Dot suggested suddenly.

She had been very still and thoughtful and this was what she had been thinking.

Sam laughed and said that no one was ever as lucky as that.

“Daddy could wear them,” Dot went on.  “But maybe they wouldn’t be the right size.”

Walter, the horse, was walking now and the bells did not jingle.  The road was drifted with snow and it was all even a very willing horse could do, to pull a sleigh through them.

It was Bobby’s sharp eyes that first spied something square and dark ahead.

“There’s a car!” he cried.  “And I’ll bet it’s stuck!”

The horse pricked up his ears and stared steadily, while Sam gave a low whistle.

“Must have been there all night,” he said.  “There are no tracks through here.  I suppose some one gave up the attempt and walked.”

When they came up with the car, they found that no one was in it.  It was a small closed car and it was stuck in the drifts as Bobby had guessed.

“I’ll bet the glove belongs to the man who owns the car,” said Meg.

“Your mother doesn’t like you to say ‘I’ll bet,’” Sam reminded her.  “But perhaps the driver did drop the glove.  I’ll bet he’s wondering where he lost it.”