“Don’t wriggle,” implored Mother Blossom, as she and Meg and Bobby came cautiously to the rescue.  “I do want these clothes to last you till it is time to buy Summer ones.  Hold still, Dot.  There!  Now come and sit in the car and I’ll tell you a story till Daddy comes back.”

Bobby had managed to free Twaddles, and the four little Blossoms climbed into the car and really sat very still—­for them—­while Mother Blossom began the story of what she did when she was a little girl and went away to boarding school for the first time.  The children loved “true” stories, and they listened intently till Dot spied her father coming down the crooked little path and set up a shout.

Father Blossom had found a farmer who lived near, and had arranged with him to bring two strong horses and a heavy rope and see if he could pull the car from the underbrush.  The farmer was a tall, silent man who seemed not to hear the excited questions of the four little Blossoms, and never even spoke to Mother Blossom beyond a quick jerk at his cap when he first saw her sitting in the car.

But, although the farmer, whose name was Ellis, was “no talker” (he himself said so), he was a quick worker, and in less than ten minutes he had rigged up the rope to the car, fastened it to the collars of his horses, and in another five minutes the car was out in the road and clear of the bushes and saplings.

“Only scratched a mite,” commented the farmer, pocketing the bill Father Blossom gave him to pay for his time and trouble.  “Lucky not to have to have the whole thing scraped and re-varnished.”

The Blossoms were home in time for supper, and of course Norah had to hear about the drive.  Bobby did not have much to say, for he was busy thinking out a little plan that, he privately decided, could best be tried out at school.  Bobby’s experience had been that Twaddles and Dot always wanted a finger in his plans and that too many fingers are as bad as too many cooks.  And any one will tell you that too many cooks are worse than none.

“Can I take my automobile to school this morning?” Bobby asked at the breakfast table the day after the drive in the new car.

Bobby was very proud of his automobile that worked with pedals like a tricycle but looked exactly like a miniature automobile, even to the red paint and the lamps and the tin license tacked on the back axle.

“If you won’t let it interfere with your school work, I suppose you may,” conceded Mother Blossom.  “Is there a place where you can keep it during school hours?”

“I can keep it down under the first floor stairs,” said Bobby eagerly.  “And I won’t play with it only before school and at recess, Mother, honest.”

So he was allowed to take the car, and he went early in order to have time for play before the nine o’clock bell.  Meg hung on behind him and the twins watched them out of sight enviously.  There was nothing in the world the twins desired so ardently as to go to school.  They had been promised that they might start in the kindergarten the next term and they were already looking forward to that time.