Four Little Blossoms and Their Winter Fun Part 14

The snow man was a bit cross-eyed, but he had a cheerful, companionable look for all of that, and the children were well pleased with him.

"But arms!" cried Meg suddenly. "He hasn't any arms, Bobby."

Sure enough, they had forgotten to make him any arms. This omission was quickly remedied. Mother Blossom called to them, as they were putting the finishing touches on the right hand.

"Here's an old hat of Daddy's," she said, stepping out on the porch.

"Will it do? Here, Meg, catch."

She tossed the hat over to Meg.

"Wait and see how it looks, Mother," begged Dot. "Want a chair, Bobby?

I'll get it."

The snow man was so tall that Bobby could not reach the top of his head, and when Dot came back, dragging a chair for him to stand on, even then he had to get up on his tiptoes to place the hat.

"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 appet.i.te 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 s...o...b..a.l.l.s 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 s...o...b..ll 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 s...o...b..ll.

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 ragam.u.f.fins!" The angry Norah s.n.a.t.c.hed 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.

"Jump on him when he comes along," advised Tim, who was not a fair fighter.

So when Bobby came running by, for he did not know how far up the street the boys had gone, Tim and Charlie pounced on him and rolled him in the snow.

"None of that," said a strange voice. "Two to one's no fair. One of you leave off, or I'll stop the fight."

The strange voice belonged to a high-school boy, Stanley Reeves, and both Tim and Charlie knew he was a member of the gymnasium wrestling team and quite capable of stopping any small-boy fight.

"You're too old to fight a boy of that size, anyway," declared Stanley, surveying Tim with disgust.

"But I'm going to punch him," announced Bobby heatedly.

"Oh, you are?" said Reeves with interest. "Go ahead, then, and I'll sit here and keep an eye on this chicken to see that he doesn't pitch in at the wrong moment"

Reeves took a firm hold on Charlie's coat collar and backed him off to one side.

"Wash his face for him--it needs it," the high-school lad went on to Bobby.

Like a small but angry b.u.mble bee, Bobby flew at Tim. They clinched and plunged head-long into the snow, where they pounded and wrestled and grunted and gasped as all boys do when they are fighting a thing out. Tim was not a fair fighter, nor a very brave one, and most of his victories had been won over smaller boys or by using unfair methods.

Now with Stanley Reeves looking on, he did not dare cheat, and so Bobby unexpectedly found himself, after perhaps five minutes of tussling, sitting on Tim's chest, with Tim breathless and beaten.

"Wash his face," insisted Stanley, suddenly scooping up a handful of snow and beginning to rub it thoroughly into Charlie's eyes and mouth.

CHAPTER XIII

THE TWINS HAVE A SECRET

Bobby seized a double handful of snow and began to give Tim the same treatment.

"Quit!" yelled Tim in anguish. "Quit, I tell you, Bobby! Ow, now you've cut my nose!"

A small twig in the snow had scratched poor Tim rather violently on his small pug nose, but it was not cut.

"Say you've had enough," ordered Bobby, thumping about on the fallen lad's chest like a particularly well-packed bale of hay. "Say you've had enough!"

"Had enough," murmured Tim obediently.

Bobby got up at once, and Tim rose and shook himself. At the same moment Stanley Reeves let go of Charlie. The two boys slouched off without a word.

"Now that ought to last them for some time," said Stanley cheerfully.

"Any time you need any advice on training up Tim Roon in the way he should go, you just apply to me, Bobby."

Bobby grinned, showing his even, white teeth, and said he would. Then Stanley went on to join the other high-school boys who were bob-sledding, and Bobby ran home to tell his family the result of his chase.