“It would be kind of crowded,” admitted Fred. “I’m willing to stay at home, Dad. Let the others go.”
“Suppose we arrange it this way,” said Mrs. Williamson: “You children all stay at home this time—you’ll find plenty to do to amuse yourselves. We won’t go till after lunch and we’ll be back in time for supper. We feel that we’d like to visit with Mrs. Wicks and take her a little something, and it really wouldn’t be very interesting for you. Then next time Daddy will take the whole Riddle Club, and we grown-ups will stay at home.”
So that was the way the plan was finally made, and after an early lunch the fathers and mothers drove off with baskets and boxes of goodies for Mrs. Wicks, including some of the delicious chocolates the children had insisted on sending her.
“Let’s tip old Riddle Chap over,” proposed Artie, aching for a little exercise. “There’s no use in waiting for him to melt away. Doesn’t he look seedy, though?”
In truth, the old snowman did look seedy. He had long ago lost his hat and his pine tree lay on the ground at his feet. Gone were the letters, R.C. In fact, he looked like a regular tramp of a snowman.
“One, two, three!” called Fred, as the boys leaned against the rapidly melting wreck.
At “three!” they gave a mighty push. Over went the ball that had formed the snowman’s body.
“Look how soft it is!” cried Polly, poking it with her toe. “It’s nothing but slush and water.”
“What’s that?” Jess’s sharp eyes had caught a glimpse of something dark.
She swooped down upon the pile of soft snow and seized the something. A sharp tug, and she had pulled out—her missing glove!