It had stopped snowing—­Harriet said it stopped during the night—­and the walks rang with the cheerful sound of shovels as men and boys went about cleaning the pavements and streets.  The sun came out, too, and the outdoors was very beautiful, but so dazzling it made Sunny Boy blink his eyes whenever he looked out of the window.

“Did Miss May know we were lost?” Sunny Boy asked his mother while she was brushing his hair.  He could brush his own hair, of course, but Mrs. Horton said she liked to do it for him and then she was quite sure he wouldn’t forget.  “Did she wonder where we were?”

“Poor Miss May!” said Mrs. Horton.  “She had a terrible day.  Dear Daddy went around last night to tell her you were all safe.  Come and sit in my lap, Sunny Boy, and I will tell you about it.”

Sunny Boy climbed into his mother’s lap and she moved her rocking chair near the window so that she could see the postman when he came down the street.  She was expecting a letter from a friend.

“You see, precious,” Mrs. Horton began, “Daddy saw that the storm was getting worse, and he tried to telephone me to tell Harriet to go after you.  But the telephone wires were out of order and he couldn’t get us; so he sent a messenger.  Harriet started out at once, but, as you know, Miss May sent you home early, and by the time Harriet reached the school you were gone.  She hurried home, expecting to find you here.  And then wasn’t I frightened when the afternoon went by and you didn’t come!  I sent Harriet down to Daddy’s office, and he came home.  By and by Mr. Smiley came and one or two other fathers to ask if we knew anything about their children.  Miss May started out in all the storm to look for you, and a policeman had to bring her back, for the wind was too much for her.”

“Yes, it blew like—­like anything!” agreed Sunny Boy.  “Did you think I was lost, Mother?”

“Yes, I did, precious.  And so you were, you know,” said Mrs. Horton, kissing the back of his neck.

“There comes Mr. Harris!” cried Sunny Boy, as the postman came down the street.  “Let me go, Mother.  Perhaps there is a letter for me!”

Sunny Boy was always expecting letters, though he seldom wrote any.  He wrote to Grandpa Horton now and then, to be sure, and at Christmas time he wrote one or two “thank you” letters to the relatives and friends who sent him Christmas presents.  But, as a rule, he did not write letters, and that is probably the reason he did not receive many.  Still, it is fun to expect letters, and Sunny Boy liked to say:  “Any for me?” to the postman.

“Hello, you didn’t get snowed in after all, did you?” said kind Mr. Harris, smiling at Sunny Boy when he opened the door.  “You had this house in a turmoil yesterday, young man.”

“What’s a turmoil?” asked Sunny Boy.

“It’s an upset,” replied the postman.  “What happened to you, anyway?”

Sunny Boy explained, while Mr. Harris went through his package of letters which he carried in his hand.